


Two Sides of a Coin

by AK_Qhyrstol



Series: Recovery and Rethinking [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Avengers Movie Night, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes and the 21st Century, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes-centric, But only a little, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt No Comfort, I promise, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Soft Stucky, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, The Author Regrets Nothing, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Trial, everything will be okay in the end, it was sort of a love/hate relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AK_Qhyrstol/pseuds/AK_Qhyrstol
Summary: There are so many things that Bucky hasn’t told his (future) friends. So many people he’s hurt. So many that he’s killed. He doesn't want to fight anymore, but it seems like he doesn't have a choice.This is the story of what happened during the time he was brainwashed up until AFTER Captain America: the Winter Soldier. Includes: Bucky’s fall from the train, Hydra, the assassination of J. F. Kennedy, the Red Room, the murders of the Starks, Natasha’s birthday, ‘Who the hell is Bucky?,' Bucky’s trial, and Bucky Barnes’s recovery. It will switch to the future occasionally just so you know he's getting better. And also...To introduce the problem of Thanos.~Thank you to everyone that has decided to join me on this incredibly long, bumpy ride. I'm sorry in advance (well, sort of sorry). Read with caution because we all know Bucky's story isn't the happiest.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Recovery and Rethinking [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800406
Comments: 21
Kudos: 65





	1. January 12-15, 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything not in English was basically copy pasted from Google Translate, so if there's any mistakes, feel free to correct me. Warning for blood (what did you expect), torture, and… you know, the usual. Welcome to the beginning of the series.

It started with a fall. 

Steve was screaming his name from the train. Bucky could just barely hear him over the whistling wind as he rapidly fell faster and faster, picking up the momentum in time with his frantic heart. 

No one wants to die young. He didn’t want to, deep down, but he was resolute in his decision. He would fall for America, but most of all, for Steve. Steve needed to go on. He needed to finish the job. He needed to live… 

The fact that it could have been Steve terrified him.

So Bucky fell off the train, the cold slicing across his face and the anguished look on Steve’s face growing farther and farther away. Twenty feet, thirty, fifty, seventy-

He screamed when he collided with a sharp rock on his way down, leaving only pain and half of his left arm. The rock didn’t stop his fall and soon his back hit the ground with a sickening thud.

The impact knocked the wind out of him. His head throbbed, vision woozy. He’d most definitely hit his head on something. Dark red blood seeped into the snow from all his wounds and the iron smell of it invaded his nostrils along with the sharp winter air. He sluggishly moved his head to look at his arm and nearly vomited when he saw the remains of it. Mangled and shattered. His forearm was missing, ripped off above the elbow. 

Bucky let his head fall back into the snow, his hair a windblown mess, eyes closing as he waited for his inevitable death. 

Instead, his heart nearly stopped in fear when he heard a voice mutter nearby: “ _Wir haben ihn gefunden._ ” [translation: We have found him.]

They had dragged him away from where he landed, a trail of blood following him wherever he went, along with his endless murmurs of _no, no, no_. He still couldn’t breathe and his eyes seemed to ache every time he moved them, headache worse as he tried to see where they were going. He couldn’t even get in a punch, too weak as the blood spilt out of him in waves, and could only give a vague wriggle in protest. 

They stuffed him into a car. Someone stemmed the bleeding of his arm and he wanted to cry. He just wanted to go to sleep. He just wanted to die. Not this again. Please. 

Please. 

His captors were mumbling something, but he couldn’t hear them, everyone’s voice just a low hum of vibration, drowned out by the blood sloshing around in his head. The engine of the car was the loudest, though, rumbling as they drove to their destination. 

Slumping against whatever surface they had strewn him upon, he tried to get his rapidly beating heart under control with some shaky breaths. It helped clear his thoughts a bit, letting some of their voices pass through his consciousness, even if he couldn't understand them. It came at a price, though; the pain sharpened in his senses and he could feel it even more intimately, like a constant stabbing into his left arm, his headache even worse than before. His stomach churned violently and the movement of the car didn’t help. 

“ _Zolas Experiment hielt ihn am Leben. Bald werden wir ihn haben._ ” said a gruff voice. [translation: Zola’s experiment kept him alive. Soon we will have him.]

“ _Schade, der Arm. Nun, es würde sowieso gehen._ ” another voice replied, a feminine lilt to it. The other grunted in reply, shuffling in his seat. [translation: Pity, the arm. Well, it was going to go anyway.]

“ _Hast du von der Schlacht an der Ostfront gehört?_ ” another voice said, higher and more cynical than the first two. [translation: Did you hear about the battle on the Eastern front?]

“ _Haben wir gewonnen?_ ” asked the woman. [translation: Did we win?]

There was a pause before the other replied: “ _Nein._ ” [translation: No.]

The car went silent for a while. The woman finally said, “ _Verliere nicht die Hoffnung. Am Ende wird die Menschheit ihre Schuld sehen._ ” [translation: Do not lose hope. In the end, humanity will see its fault.]

That was all Bucky heard before he passed out under the mind-numbing pain.

His memory swam from that point on, filled with the sort of frantic uncertainty or shaky adrenaline that you’d get on your first rollercoaster ride. He’d wake for short intervals, capturing fragments of time that didn’t make any sense, then fall back into an uneasy rest while his body tried to recuperate from the damage inflicted upon it. 

Carried in a stretcher. A familiar face, staring at him with false kindness. He said only one thing before motioning the others to carry him in as if he was expecting him to show up at some point:

“Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky couldn’t help the overwhelming wave of nausea that washed over him. The last time he saw that face, heard that voice, the most recent of his memories had been cleared away with a sea of sparks and electricity and an intense _burning_.

He was set onto a table. People surrounded him, some carrying clipboards and making notes. He felt like a horrible lab experiment gone wrong. The light was too bright and he closed his eyes, just to feel some sort of peace, to feel like _maybe_ he could get out of this. Hoping that _maybe_ someone ( _Steve_ , his mind supplied) would rescue him for the second time from this terrible nightmare. 

Some more choppy memories. A vague memory filled with his own shrill screeching and the buzzing of a saw while _his_ voice said cheerfully:

“The procedure has already started,” 

Another of malevolent whispers in a dark room, slowly coming closer and closer until they were right next to his ear… He wasn’t sure if that was an actual memory or a figment of his imagination, but what was the difference at this point? His reality was worse than anything his brain could conjure up on a dark night. 

If anyone saw the former Bucky Barnes fighting against his restraints in his sleep, breathing heavily, head thrashing, well… No one cared.

Because he was the new _fist of Hydra_. Or at least he was going to be. 

Bucky awoke groggily to the unnatural light that shined in his room. He knew he should probably go check on Steve and make sure he wasn’t still sick, but he found that he couldn’t lift his limbs, even if he wanted to-

Even if he wanted to? 

He moved to tighten his left hand into a fist, but nothing happened. He couldn’t feel his hand anymore. 

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he remembered where he was and what was happening to him and accidentally let out a choked sound. His eyes squinted, flitting to his left arm. 

Where there was flesh before, there was empty space. Surely there had been more of it left than that? 

His brain hadn’t quite woken up yet, distracted by the intense throbbing of blood that made itself known in his shoulder, but when it started working again he checked to make sure his other arm was still there.

It was just his normal arm, which he conceived with relief. Then shivered when he realised he didn’t have a shirt on. The room was unbearably cold without it and his skin had responded with raised bumps on his stiff skin. They also hadn’t even bothered to clean the dirt off him, but that wasn’t the most surprising thing.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola’s voice sounded next to him and Bucky’s eyes grew wide, but he didn’t move, just laid there unmoving and imperceptibly trembling. 

“Get away from me,” he said, tone flat. He could feel Zola shaking with laughter and Bucky frowned anxiously at the sound. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind.

“We are only going to… fix you, Sergeant Barnes. Release him,” Zola addressed the last bit to the people in lab coats that were scurrying around the room, looking for this and that. A man and a woman came over and undid the straps on his legs, arm, and chest that restricted his movement. He sat up shakily, looking down at his right hand, slowly clenching it until it was-

Before he could try and swing a punch (even with his non-dominant hand), someone behind him grabbed his arm and painfully twisted it around to press into his back.

“ _Denk nic_ _ht mal dran. Sie können nicht von Ihrem Zweck entkommen._ ” was growled into his ears, but the words meant nothing to him. [translation: Do not even think about it. You can not escape from your purpose.]

“Walk with me, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola said amicably. Bucky was turned toward the door, a firm hand on his good arm, and carted out after the scientist with haste. His good arm strained from being twisted so harshly and he bent himself over slightly to relieve the ache. He was a little disoriented, stumbling and not able to get the correct footing, but he wasn’t given the time to do so as he was pushed unrelentingly forward. 

There were guards stationed at the door, looking down at him like he might go wild at any moment. Each of them held a gun loosely in their hands, ready to shoot at him if he even thought about escaping. Zola’s calm footsteps echoed throughout the hall along with Bucky’s uneven shuffles. The person holding him captive roughly pushed him forward into a room after Zola and he nearly fell, and then again when he saw was in front of him. 

His memories came back in a rush and he gasped, eyes wide and panicked as he tried to turn away from the chair. Someone grabbed him and started dragging him closer to it and he yelled, kicking and struggling with as much strength as he could muster in his battered body.

He remembered this chair. It was the one they had used on him when he was captured, the one that made his memories a little fuzzy around the edges. And it had hurt like someone was _tearing_ at him from the inside. Like someone was ripping invasively into his skull over and over, but he hadn’t been able to do anything but scream into the room filled with scientists, making notes about his behaviour as if he wasn’t suffering something worse than dying twice. 

He remembered how much he had twitched after being released. Thrown back onto the table and documented before they tried again, aiming for perfect results. And again and again, up until Steve had come and rescued him from that hell.

He clawed at uniforms, tried to aim kicks at their legs, but he couldn’t do anything. It was going to happen again. 

“We’ve improved it since we last met, Sergeant Barnes, but as you will soon tell, there is still work to be done. You won’t mind if we take the liberty of using you, will you?” Zola said, not expecting any sort of reply. He turned to one of the people there and signalled with his hand, and they started preparing the machine.

Someone shoved a rubber mouthpiece past his lips and he bit down on it hard, trying to ground himself, chest heaving, but it only further reminded him of his fate. His arm and legs were clamped to the machine and his heart pounded in his ears. He fought, but it was unfruitful; he was no match for metal. 

The feeling he experienced as the seat slowly tilted back to make his head more accessible was one of pure, panicked dread. The kind of feeling where you’re trapped inside a dark house and there’s someone you don’t know walking down the hall, slowly creeping down to where you hide. The kind of feeling when you’re being held down by a much stronger person and you can’t even move away or lift your limbs to protect yourself. The kind of feeling you get when you’re _helpless_ and there’s absolutely nothing that will change that, absolutely nobody there that will save you. 

(He knew it was irrational to hope that Steve would come and find him again. Steve thought he was dead. Bucky had _thought_ he would have been dead by now. But he couldn’t help but cling to the idea of it, the sweet fantasy of running away from all this pain into a pair of friendly arms.)

There was nothing that could be done, and that thought unsettled him so immensely that when the metal slowly lowered, hovering in position above his flesh, Bucky was near hyperventilating at the anticipation of the intense agony that was to come. 

“Begin,” Zola muttered, completely enraptured by the device he had created. Someone pushed the button on the computer and within the next moment, the entire room was filled with Bucky’s deafening shrieks.


	2. January 17, 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hallucinations? Maybe.

Waking up after being in the Cryostasis Chamber and accepting that everything was real -- it was difficult. He felt wrong and cold and so close to death, he could almost _touch_ it, but it was always out of his grasp. All he could do was mutter his serial number over and over (" _32557038_. _32557038_. _32557038_." _),_ hoping it would save him somehow. That Steve would show in the middle like last time and interrupt his mindless chanting to carry him away.

His mind screamed _WRONG!_ when he came to his senses a few seconds after being taken out of the cold, realising he had willingly walked down to the first lab room. His mind had been completely blank and all he had needed to know was how to please his captors. Bucky couldn’t believe he’d done that and started to wonder how long it was going to be before his mind was stuck like that? Stuck in endless obedience?

Who knows what they’d get him to do then. Bucky felt a hollow cavity form in his chest just at the thought. 

Someone slapped him across the face and snarled in German: “ _Hör auf. Sie haben hier keine anderen Gedanken als die, die wir Ihnen geben._ ” [translation: Stop it. You do not have thoughts besides the ones we give you.]

He sneered back at them and said, “Fuck you,” despite not knowing what he’d been punished for. The slap still left a sharp stinging to his cheek anyway. 

He was strapped to the same table, but this time only a couple of people were in the room. Occasionally, someone would measure his good arm… He hoped they weren’t going to cut that one off, too, but knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up in a place like this. 

They’d also made him change his clothes from the military ones he wore into a shirt and a pair of pants made of some cheap, scratchy fabric. At least it was clean, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be for very long. 

Soon he was being unstrapped and someone roughly grabbed his arm, shoving him bodily towards the door with a loud " _Aufstehen!_ ” [translation: Get up!]

Arm quickly detained lest he escape, he was taken down the hall. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach when he realised where they were headed for again. 

Still shaky from the last mind wipe, he was carted to a cell-like room. It was filled with a faint chemical smell and because of the spotlessness of it, it had likely been cleaned _just for him_. With a harsh push, he was falling weakly onto the cold floor, wincing when he bashed his knee a little on the hard concrete. 

His assailant didn’t even wait for him to get up before he kicked him in the stomach, sending Bucky reeling over with a choked gasp. 

“ _Schwach,_ ” they taunted, then turned to address their friend: “ _Ich weiß nicht, was Zola in diesem erbärmlichen Menschen sieht._ ” [translation: Weak, I do not know what Zola sees in this pathetic human being.]

“You chicken, that’s all you got?” Bucky wheezed, using almost all of his strength just to hover himself off the ground on his hands and knees, head hanging heavily between his shoulders.

He knew he shouldn’t provoke them - it would only end in pain for himself - but maybe Steve’s constant ‘fight me’ attitude had rubbed off on him.

His assailant growled and stalked over to him, grabbing him by the hair (Bucky gave a pained groan, gritting his teeth) and yanked it so he could stare at him in the eye and say, “ _Klugscheißer,_ ” before letting go and kicking him in the side so hard he doubled over, face scrunched as he tried to curl his body away from his boot. [translation: Smart aleck.]

“What’re you gonna do, make Zola put me back in the machine?” Bucky grunted, narrowly rolling away from one kick to only be met with another - Bucky somehow curled even further in on himself. He couldn’t seem to get air into his lungs, gasping for breath whenever there was a blissful reprieve, but the abuse didn’t stop and he could feel the sharp ache in his sides where he knew he would be bruised black and blue for days.

Suddenly the kicking stopped and he could finally breathe, trying to get rid of the black spots on the sides of his vision by closing his eyes. The unfriendly light of the room shined through his eyelids and made everything red. That’s when he realised the loud laughter directed at him. 

“ _Er muss seinen Kopf wirklich hart getroffen haben!_ ” his assailant roared, head thrown back in a disgusting sort of malicious laughter. His friend laughed with him, but Bucky was left clueless. [translation: He must have hit his head really hard!]

“Why’re you laughing?” Bucky demanded, but that only seemed to make things funnier for them because the volume of their laughter only grew. 

Finally one of them choked out: “ _Er weiß es nicht!_ ” [translation: He doesn’t know!]

His assailant finally calmed down enough to grab him by the neck and Bucky’s eyes widened, his hands instinctively coming up to try and pull the arms away, but the fingers only tightened around his throat as he lifted him up off the ground and slammed him into the wall. Bucky’s face grew gradually redder and redder while he struggled to breathe, legs kicking desperately.

His assailant hissed, “ _Zola wurde vor einigen Tagen von Ihrem erbärmlichen_ amerikanischen Patrioten _gefangen genommen. Der Tag, an dem du aus dem kleinen Güterwagen gefallen bist._ ” [translation: Zola was captured by your pathetic American patriot a few days ago. The day you fell from the little freight car.]

Bucky only caught three words: Zola. American patriot… _Steve_. So their mission was successful. Zola was captured. But-? 

He was released from cruel hands and he fell to the ground, choking for air, but nonetheless, he managed to get out:

“But I saw him! I saw Zola, he was here!”

“ _Nein,_ ” the other person said and Bucky at least knew what that word meant. But who was the person he’d seen-? No, he’d _seen_ Zola, he was here, they were just messing with him. 

“ _Wir werden es morgen noch einmal versuchen._ ” his assailant muttered then walked out of the cell. His friend held a single cuff in his hands with a chain that connected it to the wall. Clamping it almost a little _too_ tightly around his wrist, he left him alone, knowing he couldn’t follow even if he wanted to, bruised and battered as he was. They shut the door with a loud bang behind them. [translation: We will try this again tomorrow.]

Bucky was left with his scrambled thoughts. 

_Surely they won’t starve me to death?_ , Bucky thought, clutching his stomach as it growled sadly. _But then again, they could put something inside what they give me._

Thirty minutes later, a woman came in. She wore a very clean, white outfit and she had rubber gloves on her hands (probably meaning that she was a doctor). She was carrying a metal tray of something that smelled… well, edible. As she came in, she said, “ _Essen für den Soldaten._ ” [translation: Food for the soldier.]

She set the tray down in front of him with a clack and walked back out, only after letting a man through. He sat down in front of Bucky and stared at him, not seeming to want to move anytime soon. 

Bucky felt a little intimidated, which might’ve been the point; he was a huge man and clearly much stronger and heavier than Bucky. He could overpower Bucky very easily. Bucky looked away from that stare and down at the tray. 

It _was_ food, thank god, but it seemed to be only starchy foods: two bread rolls and a few small, boiled potatoes. There was also a cup of what was hopefully water. When he was still in the 107th, they had given them some sort of meat or beans, plus canned fruit and that disgusting sludge they called instant coffee. There were occasionally some other things, but this was what they had usually eaten.

If they fed him three times a day, he could probably survive off this (he’d had less to eat before), but… What was the point in eating anything? The faster he died, the quicker he could be free from them. 

Bucky didn’t touch his food, trying to ignore when the man’s stare seemed to get even more intense. 

Without any warning, the man’s hand surged up and grabbed him by the back of the head, his hand painfully gripping his hair and causing Bucky to grit his teeth. The man said without any emotion whatsoever: “ _Entweder iss es oder ich mache dich, Soldat._ ” [translation: Either eat it or I’ll make you, Soldier.]

Bucky glowered at him but didn’t move to pick up anything off of the tray. It was _apparently_ the wrong thing to do because the man’s hand tightened his hold on his hair to hold him in place, tilting his head back just a little. A moment later, he was attempting to shove a small potato past his lips, which he determinedly kept sealed shut. 

The man didn’t even frown at this, only swiftly punching him in the stomach (which still ached with bruises, but for some reason not as badly as earlier), causing him to keel over with a groan, losing focus on keeping his mouth shut. The man used this weak moment to force open his jaw and cram the food inside, holding his palm firmly over his mouth to make sure he didn’t spit it out, efficiently holding it closed at the same time. He also moved to sit on Bucky’s legs so he couldn’t kick him, using his knee to push his restrained arm into the ground. The man did this all with practised ease, and Bucky wondered if he even had a chance in the first place. He still struggled weakly all the same, testing how far he could move.

His head was restricted to small movements due to the hand holding his hair, so he couldn’t shake off the hand. The man’s weight was unmoveable. Bucky growled in frustration. His mouth filled with saliva and he couldn’t do anything but hold the potato in his mouth or chew it and swallow. 

“ _Kauen. Schlucken._ ” the man monotoned and Bucky glared at him, but knew it was useless to not obey at this point; if he waited, he’d only have to swallow it later. [translation: Chew. Swallow.]

So he did as he was told. 

They didn’t put him back in the cold chamber after the day was over. Instead, they left him to sleep in his cell, letting the cold seep into his bones until he was freezing from it. He wasn’t surprised they hadn't left him bedding, or even a blanket. Why would they? He’d probably be staying in that cold chamber for most of his time anyway. 

It was hard to fall asleep on the hard ground; it made his muscles and joints stiff, and whenever he rolled over into another position, there was always something that bothered him. But he was in the army, he could deal with it. 

What he couldn’t deal with were the dreams. Well, actually, first it was the memories that began to drift through his thoughts, just as he was falling asleep.

Not bad memories, necessarily. The memories of the good times: the time when he’d met Steve (getting beat up in an alleyway), the first time Steve had shown him his artwork. The first time he’d caught Steve humming to one of those old songs on the radios. The time when they’d moved in together and become roommates. That time Rebecca helped them make cookies.

The time he’d promised he’d always be there for Steve:

_“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal,” Bucky smiled, clapping his hand on Steve’s bony shoulder. Steve tried to smother his grin back, but Bucky caught it._

The time when he was about to leave for England:

_“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Bucky called, starting to walk away with a cheeky smirk. Steve’s lips had pulled upwards a little at the banter and he’d called back:_

_"How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”_

_Bucky practically beamed at him, striding back up for a hug with a muttered, “Punk,”_

_“Jerk,” Steve whispered fondly back, wrapping his arms around Bucky._

The first time Steve had rescued him from Hydra: (Bucky shuddered at the vague thought of what had happened there.)

_Trapped to the table, Bucky’s consciousness swam as he tried to gather his thoughts. A voice broke through the mess and he registered it as his name._

_Opening his eyes to the dim room, he looked over to the source of the voice to see a tall man. He looked horrified. Bucky looked blearily into his clear, green-blue eyes and his brain made a connection:_

_“Steve?” he whispered in relief._

_He’d come for him. Bucky didn’t know whether to laugh or cry._

_The next thing he knew, he was being carried out, leaning on Steve’s broad shoulders (that was new) and trying to keep up._

When he fell deeper into his REM cycle, things started to change, his imagination merging with reality. He got the kind of prickly feeling you get when a huge, dark figure is hovering over you, behind you… 

_An explosion. The fire was too close, baking his dirt-smudged skin. He was walking on a tightrope, but it was falling… He jumped to the other railing._

_“Just go! Get out of here!” Steve yelled._

_"No, not without you!”_

‘Til the end of the line, Steve, don’t you remember? 

_Steve was about to jump to him. Bucky was ready to catch him. The platform underneath Steve exploded and he fell into the fire._

_He was screaming, but there was nothing he could do to save Steve. He was going to jump into the fire after him, but something was holding him in his place. He was stuck to live without Steve forever._

It felt so _wrong_.


	3. February 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You cut off one head and two more grow in its place."

The entrance of the room was guarded by a small, specialized group of soldiers, ready to engage whenever necessary. A man stalked down the hall with purpose, gesturing them to the side with a careless wave of his hand, and they parted for him so he could reach the door of the chamber. 

Face set with a practised frown, he entered the code to the door. Any wrong move would set the entire building in flame, but he knew what he was doing. The door opened without a problem or a creak, silent as a mouse, as he walked into the room like he owned it. 

There was only one thing in this room and it was a complicated safe. A safe that contained what was certainly the most important book in history. No, it _will_ be the most important book in history. Without a doubt. 

It contained the process of _recruiting_ the man known as Bucky Barnes into the Winter Soldier Program and that was the most powerful weapon they had on their side of the war against humanity. 

The book was the most important when it came to the operation. It contained all of its secrets, all of the Winter Soldier’s secrets. All one had to do to control the Winter Soldier was to obtain this book and they would be able to shape the world to their vision. 

It was currently incomplete. They were still in the beginning stages of the operation, so there was still much research to be done.

When the man finally held the book in his grasp, he thumbed the pages, a small smile beginning to creep onto his face. 

They had time. 

“ _Everyone keep calm. All we need to do is make sure that the Winter Soldier program succeeds. The course of the war is none of our concern._ ” said the head of the meeting, Rolf. He was standing up in front of a long table, which seated multiple members of different branches of Hydra, and held the Winter Soldier book up high, displaying the star for all to see. 

“ _This is all that matters. This… and what comes after._ ” he said. No one said anything for a while, but then a woman raised her hand politely and asked:

“ _What about Zola? We still need him for some of the remaining experiments if we want this to work, but he has been captured by the enemy._ ”

Rolf gently placed the book onto the table before coming up to stare at their map, containing all the known bases of their enemy. 

“ _Shouldn’t we orchestrate a rescue?_ ” another person added. Rolf shook his head with a sigh.

“ _The loss of our doctor is great, but we must continue forward with what he has left us. However, there is still the possibility that we will be able to continue our line of work alongside him._ ”

A murmur went around the room, but Rolf promptly ignored it. 

“ _Schmidt is a time bomb. He is unreliable and he does not care for anything other than his own power. He does not care about freeing the people from themselves._ ” Rolf claimed and no one dared go against him. 

“ _What would you suggest that we do, then?_ ” 

“ _I’m suggesting that we get rid of him._ ” 

An uproar sounded throughout the room and suddenly everyone was standing, angrily accusing Rolf of being unloyal to their leader. Rolf took this calmly for a few minutes before gesturing to a guard with a flick of his fingers.

The guard nearest the door cocked his gun, a clear target in sight. A second and a deafening _bang_ later, the loudest protester was lying dead on the floor, a bullet wound straight through their heart. 

The remaining Hydra members stared at Rolf in horror, not even giving in to the urge to twitch lest Rolf signal for them to be taken out, too. 

“ _Does anyone else have any objections?_ ” he asked and was met with silence. “ _Good._ ” 

To say that Bucky had been angry at Steve would’ve been an understatement. Not right away, of course; his initial reaction from seeing him had been immediate relief, the familiar slopes of his crooked nose to his jaw welcome after so many foreign things. It was the face he had burned into his brain, memorizing everything from the curve of his ear to the strands of blond hair that always got in his face while he was drawing. 

But the rest of Steve had been different. He was taller, broader, _stronger_ than him, and for a half a second it had frightened him slightly because _this wasn’t the Steve he’d left at home_. He just had to do something - to get involved in something that could’ve probably _killed_ him and Bucky would’ve been none the wiser. He wouldn’t’ve have known that Steve had done another one of his dumb-as-shit stunts without him there to keep a lookout. Not until he came back home to find out that Steve wasn’t there anymore. 

Who really fights in a war for the sole reason of protecting their country? There’s always a reason, whether it be for themself or someone else, but there was _always_ a reason. Bucky, like so many others, had been drafted. It was only another choice that had been taken from him, really. He didn’t want to be there in the first place; he’d much rather stay at home with Steve and continue life as if none of this was happening… because to him, Steve was the only thing he really cared about anymore. 

But Steve hadn’t done it just to serve his country either, despite how many times he insisted that was why. For so long he had been waved away because of his physical health and he wanted to prove it to the world that he was more than that. It was almost childish to think of it; if Steve actually had been allowed to go to war, it was very likely he would’ve been wiped off the face of the earth too soon. He would have been just another guy, just one more number to the casualty count. 

The battlefield isn’t really a place for cunning. It was shoot and run before they got you first. It was ‘who can spill the most blood the quickest?’, all the while convinced that the other side was guilty and they were innocent. But what was the point in fighting anyway? 

That was why Bucky was furious by the time they had a moment alone together, right after the march back to base. It had only built up on the way, slowly increasing until all he could think about was how _stupid_ Steve had been.

“You weren’t supposed to follow me, Steve!” he’d shouted as loud as he dared. He was trembling with the intensity of his emotions, so much so that he had to grip the wall for support. Steve’s face was set into a deep frown.

“I have every right to fight alongside everyone else, Buck! You know that!”

Bucky’s throat constricted at the repeated words as he tried not to let the tears from his eyes fall, his vision getting blurrier with every passing second. His voice cracked as he uttered out: “But you weren’t supposed to _follow_ me, Stevie.”

Steve looked conflicted. “And why not?”

“Because you’re supposed to be at home! Safe!” Bucky tensed, trying to put everything into words, so just _maybe_ Steve would see reason. “You weren’t supposed to follow me into hell, Steve, you were supposed to stay at home with your charcoal pencils a-and your newspapers, the ones you’d cut up to fit inside the soles of your shoes-”

Bucky bit his bottom lip harshly, clenching his jaw against the pain of the words that were lodged in his throat, trying to stay unsaid. 

“Buck,” Steve said softly, moving towards him. Bucky backed away sharply, not sure if he could handle Steve being too close lest he broke down in front of him. 

“You were supposed to stay _alive_ , Steve. I get that you’re all- all-” Bucky gestured vaguely at him in a sort of desperation, hoping Steve would know what he was trying to say, “-but that doesn’t- that doesn’t mean you should’ve come after me. You could’ve _died_ , Steve, and how was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to know that I’d caused it until it was too late?” 

Steve finally stepped up in front of him and hugged him and it should’ve felt different, but it didn’t. Even during a war, Steve still smelled of that same soap that they would share back home, mixed with that metallic scent of charcoal that he would accidentally rub everywhere. Bucky held onto him as tightly as he could, frightened that if he let go for a second Steve would disappear and he would be back on the table, alone in the dark, mindlessly whispering his name, rank, and serial number. 

“I’ll always come for you, Buck. _‘Til the end of the line_ , remember?” Steve had whispered into his shoulder and Bucky had felt the pit of his stomach drop even further than it already had. The phrase hadn’t felt so much like a curse until now.

Bucky could only hope in his dim cell that Steve didn’t follow after him. Not while he had so much to live for still. Hell, he’s even gotten a dame, he can’t leave her behind, right?

Originally, the plan was to get one of the bombers to turn around and blow up the _Valkyrie_ , but then Captain Rogers stepped in and did it for them, removing himself from the game in the process. Well, that meant one more Hydra member spared. Of course, the lower branches of Hydra weren’t given this information because _imagine_ telling them that their leader had been taken out - they’d be unnecessarily frantic. The other side didn’t leak the information to the public yet either, knowing that the loss of a national icon would devastate them. 

“ _We will have to wait for a little while to tell the lower ranks of this. To lessen the blow._ ” Rolf said to the rest of the Hydra members who’d come to the meeting. 

“ _You did not mention who would be taking over Hydra,_ ” a man pointed out from down the table, “ _Do_ _you mean to take over, or do you have someone in mind?_ ”

Rolf didn’t say anything for a long time, staring strangely at the Winter Soldier book, the red book a stark contrast to the monochromatic room. 

“ _I will be the new leader of Hydra,_ ” he said clearly, looking up at the eyes that carefully watched him. “ _Meeting adjourned._ ”

Everyone quickly gathered their things, stacking papers and such and then hurrying out of the room, not wanting to be the last to leave. One didn’t know if there was any consequence for being too slow, but it was best not to find out.

“ _The new leader of Hydra…_ ” Rolf purred to himself, thumbing the edges of the Winter Soldier book. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a bright blinking light got his attention and he darted to grab the small telecommunication device, switching it on. He immediately heard Zola’s voice on the other line. Rolf brought the device up to his ear.

“ _Rolf,_ ” Zola greeted him. Rolf replied in kind. “ _I have good news._ ”

“ _Oh, really? What is it?_ ”

“ _I have been offered a job as part of_ Operation Paperclip _. This will be the start of their new agency to enforce the law. I suppose they put a little too much_ trust _in who they hire._ ” Zola finished with delight.

Rolf caught on to what Zola was saying and smirked, “ _They will always create the seeds of their own destruction, hm?_ ”

“ _You cut off one head and two more grow in its place,_ ” Zola agreed, “ _This is only the beginning._ ”


	4. March 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medicine to cure the Soldier is ready for use.

There was a buzz going around the Hydra members. Zola had been working from his cell and while it was difficult to do so (he wasn’t allowed to write anything down without giving himself away, so it was all in his head), he still managed to expedite the process of making the medicine which was to cure the Soldier. A few tests later and the procedure was perfected, ready for use.

It was time to collect the Soldier from his living quarters. Hopefully without fighting like the last three times, but one can’t get their hopes up.

Rolf ardently congratulated the group of doctors in front of him for their work, but he knew that the truest gift he could give them was watching the medicine in action. He signalled the guards at the door and waited. 

“ _Soldat, steh auf._ ” [translation: Soldier, get up.] the guard dressed in black ordered as he came into the room. Bucky could only heave out a pained laugh, his entire being wanting to shrink in on itself at the thought of another beating. 

Bucky’s ribs could be permanently damaged for all he knew. With every exhale, a strange whistling sound came and it vaguely reminded him of the whining of a wounded dog. (Like the one he and Steve had found in a back alley that one time - they tried feeding it but it got scared and ran away from them. Bucky wondered what had happened to it.) His very bones felt as if they were stretched and shattered until he was a heap of broken pieces. He swore he could hear voices in the walls. Sometimes there was a faint ringing in his ears if they kicked hard enough. Whenever they had punched him in the nose, he knew it had been a hair from breaking and it always ached, his eyes watering excessively. Tears streaked through the dirt on his face, eyes swollen and bloodshot after so many hours of straining not to scream. His entire _being_ ached for the pain to stop, but there was no end.

When Bucky didn’t immediately stumble to his feet, one of the guards hoisted him up by his soiled shirt and dragged him to the door of his cell, Bucky giving his best to struggle out of their grip, but he was just so _tired_. He could probably sleep for a year and then some more.

More guards accompanied them, forcing Bucky onto his weak legs, shaking like a newborn colt. They yanked his right arm behind his back to detain him. Where they were going, Bucky had no idea, but they were going down the hall… really, it didn’t matter where they were going; the halls were all the same and it was a surprise that no one got lost in them. What frightened him were the rooms that seemed to each contain a new horror for him to endure.

There was his cell, of course, which was where he spent most of his waking hours. When they decided to give him a break, they would stick him in the freezer until the next time they decided to try their best to break him in again. Another room contained the machine - the one that would wrack his body with sharp jolts until he screamed and couldn’t remember anything other than _pain_. (He begged whoever was listening not to make him go there again.)

There was also the first lab room. He was taken there frequently for… measurements? Something like that. He couldn’t remember. There were only strips of measuring tape, wrapping themselves around him and slowly tightening until he couldn’t breathe-

Maybe his memory was blurring it with another room. Bucky wouldn’t ever know the difference, though. It was all the same.

Eventually, after multiple twists and turns, he was shoved into the blinding light of a foreign room and he shirked away from it, holding his arms in front of his face to block the light. 

Someone grabbed him by the hair (it had grown shaggier after… however long he’d been here) and he didn’t bother concealing a yelp as he grew closer to the unyielding fist to try to slack the sting. 

“ _Geh auf den Tisch, Soldat._ ” [translation: Get on the table, Soldier.] a female voice prompted him, but he was forced onto the hard anyway, his arm and legs bound tightly to it in a few short movements of more guards.

Not knowing what to say as doctors in lab coats crowded in lab coats, he fell onto default and started hissing out: “Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557-”

A hand came out of nowhere and smacked him across the face and someone growled into his ear (although he could not see who it was): “ _Hör auf mit diesen Lügen. Sie sind nichts anderes als eine Bereicherung für Hydra._ ” [translation: Stop these lies. You are nothing besides an asset to Hydra.]

Despite this and his half-baked understanding of the language, he kept on whispering the words in his head. There was a sort of comfort in them, a familiarity that he couldn’t find anywhere in this cold prison. The monotone of it soothed his nerves. It was something he _knew_ \- they couldn’t take this from him because the words and numbers would remain true even after he died. 

He kept repeating them even as the sting of a needle went into his remaining upper shoulder. He kept repeating them until his thoughts became hazy and floaty. Until he couldn’t think anymore and there was just blankness in his mind. 

Bucky wouldn’t have registered being carried to the electric chair if it wasn’t for the voices muttering something nearby. They were talking about… something. It was something important. Probably. He didn’t know. It _felt_ important. Actually, it felt important in a frightening way, his heartbeat growing faster with a full-body panic although he couldn’t… he couldn’t remember why. 

Words floated through his mind and only heard parts of the conversation, but something seemed familiar about the words in a way he couldn’t place: “ _Hast du gehört? … Schmidt ist weg… Der_ amerikanische Patriot _ist tot…_ ” [translation: Did you hear? … Schmidt is gone… The American patriot is dead…]

Suddenly he was being strapped back down and he forced his eyes open, looking blurrily at the clamp around his arm as he was slowly reclined backwards. Even his most basic consciousness registered that this was the machine that _hurt_ , but he wasn’t in control of his own body - he was shifting and wriggling, trying to get away from the sparking electrocution even though his limbs were locked in place. They were more useless than if they were dragged down by weights attached to his ankles.

He was screaming someone’s name for help, but it felt distant, drowned out over the loud sparks of the machine. His body twitched and recoiled violently but there wasn’t anywhere to go, there wasn’t anyone there to help-

His throat hurt by the time the worst was over, by the time the metal pieces came away from his head and the chair returned to its normal position. No one moved to release him. They all looked at him as if they were waiting for something. 

There was a strong smell of burnt flesh and it made him gag and dry heave, but there was nothing in his stomach to get rid of, so his body settled for spitting out his own saliva onto the ground. He panted, hanging his head to rest his chin on his sternum, and clenched his eyes shut against the suddenly very bright lights shining into his face, trying to quell the massive headache he sported. It throbbed hotly and whenever he tried to concentrate on a passing thought, the pain would increase and he would have to stop.

Footsteps clacked toward him. Someone grabbed him by the jaw and lifted his head, fitting some sort of tight metal collar around his throat, making it even harder to breathe.

“What is your name?” a heavily accented voice asked him and Bucky answered with only a second of hesitation:

“James Buchanan Barnes.” 

An intense shock wracked his body from his neck and he shrieked, the pain intense but short. His arm jerked in its restraint, his torso twisting in a way to try and yank himself out of the chair, but the clamp around it was unmoveable. When it had subsided, he slumped, his breaths whistling heavily, attempting to gather his thoughts again.

“I will ask again: What is your name, Soldier?” the voice asked again.

Bucky swallowed dryly, but he still spoke out clearly: “James Barnes-”

The shock collar was activated again and his throat was so sore that he could only release raspy yells, head thrown back in an attempt to get further away from the painful jolts that tore through his skin and scratched rawly on his helpless muscles.

They continued this process over and over until his voice was completely ruined, ripped to tatters and aching even when he spoke in the lowest of voices. So Bucky switched to whispering his name out loud or not saying anything at all, although the answer echoed through his beaten brain. They would shock him either way, so why did it matter? 

Eventually, they changed tactics. 

“Do you remember the name you were screaming earlier?” the voice asked him. Bucky was still trying to sharpen his thoughts after the last shock, his head feeling ready to explode in any given moment. The name? What name? A name… An important name. A familiar name.

He was able to get the general feeling of it, but the specific sounds kept escaping him. A few more seconds and it would be in his grasp-

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky sighed, somewhat relieved he could remember him. He was the only thing that mattered, really; they could take everything else away from him, just not Steve. Not Steve.

“Steven Grant Rogers, AKA Captain America.” the man said with some amusement, “War hero, national icon. He is the one you want us to take instead?”

Bucky’s mind short-circuited and he sputtered out: “What?”

The man ignored him as he started to calmly walk around the room. “We _do_ have him, of course. You want us to do what we have done to you, to him? Interesting.”

“I…” Bucky’s mind went into a frenzy, searching through all his memories, trying to remember when he had said that. But there was only one conclusion: he didn’t say that. He would never say that. When he related this to the man, a new wave of violent panic increased in his gut when what he had said finally registered. Take Steve? Torture Steve? No, that- They can’t. They _can’t_ do that, not to him, anyone but him- 

“We could, you know. We could take him out of his holding area, put him in that chair the same as you.”

“No,” Bucky whispered, trying to block out the words. If his arms (too late he realised he actually only had one) were unstrapped from the chair, he would be pressing his palms to his ears to muffle the voice, but for now, he could only whisper to himself to drown it out. 

“We could strap him to the slab and remake him.”

Bucky continued his hushed denials, trying to figure out if this was some horrific nightmare.

“We could put the collar on his neck instead." the man mused calmly, "We could beat him until he can’t breathe. Funny how things come full circle, hm? Oh, we could cut off his arm, just like you-”

“NO! STOP! STOP IT!” Bucky yelled, shaking his head to try and get rid of the words, to get rid of the voice. He yelled even though the skin of his scalp crawled and throbbed with blood, a particular vein pumping rapidly, enough that Bucky could pick it out from the others. His throat demanded his silence, but he didn’t listen. 

“So you will cooperate?”

Bucky fell silent and hesitated, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. It was now swelteringly hot in the room and he started to sweat, his nose beginning to run. It felt like he had the worst of fevers, a sickness that resided in his chest and festered, making everything raw and painful and vulnerable-

“Soldier,” the man said with a dangerous tone and (perhaps) a spoonful of impatience.

“Yes. Yes, fine, just don’t- just don’t touch him.” Bucky wheezed out, curling in onto himself.

“You are not in the position to be giving orders, Soldier.” the man said scornfully. He then turned to one of his associates and bit out, “ _B_ _ring ihn zurück in die Kryostase._ ” [translation: Put him back in Cryostasis.]

“ _Sir, we do not have Captain America in captivity. You just released the word that he was dead?_ ” Emilia asked him as she and Rolf walked down the hallway back to his office.

“ _The Soldier does not know that,_ ” Rolf uttered slowly and Emilia made a soft sound of understanding. 

“ _Have him fight for something that has already slipped through his fingers?_ ”

“ _Precisely,_ ” Rolf grinned, pressing open the door. It was time for another call to Zola. They were going to move to a different Hydra base to meet up with someone he’s been anxious to meet.


	5. July 18, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into what the future brings.

Steve and Bucky were laying on the couch in the Avengers tower common room, surrounded by the other superheroes and their friends. Bucky’s service dog, Mango, was sitting at the foot of their couch, close enough that Bucky could scratch her fluffy ears if he felt like it or if the “socialising” was starting to exhaust him a bit. Mango would always lick the back of his hand when he did that.

The Avengers had collectively decided they were going to try to get the two “old men” caught up with the time period, and thus were forcing them to endure the pain of the _High School Musical_ series. (They were currently watching the second one.) 

This had been going for a few months and so far; they’ve watched all the _Star Wars_ movies (Steve had gasped really loudly when Darth Vadar revealed he was Luke’s father), some Disney movies (they particularly enjoyed _Beauty and the Beast_ ), and they also had become obsessed with Harry Potter for a while, which absolutely did _not_ include Tony calling Bucky ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’ whenever he walked into a room.

But either way, they were dragged out of their floor to the main floor every Tuesday to watch a multitude of American classics and, sometimes, new releases (such as _Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales_ , but only after they’d watched the other three).

Clint and Natasha shared the couch across from them, Natasha’s toes stuck underneath Clint’s thigh while she leaned against the side. Clint was leaning on the back of the sofa, legs and arms crossed. Bruce was sitting on the comfy chair next to them, legs drawn up. On the _other_ couch, Tony was sprawled across the legs of Pepper and Rhodey. Thor was sitting on the rug before Wanda and Vision’s couch, having his hair braided by Wanda’s delicate fingers.

“Sharpay’s a _bitch_ ,” Bucky mumbled lowly to Steve, leaning further into his arm, which was draped across his shoulders. Steve hummed, letting Bucky rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, eyes still locked on the movie. If anyone noticed their closeness, they didn’t say anything.

On-screen, Sharpay was flirting with Troy while he ‘taught’ her how to play golf (with her hideously pink golf balls and club). The thing was, though, that Troy was being an idiot and was reciprocating her touches. Because he’s an idiot. 

Bucky definitely thought Gabriella could do better than him. 

His frown deepened when Sharpay clearly demonstrated behind Troy’s back that she knew _exactly_ how to play golf. 

Mango whined softly when she saw his distress and plopped her chin in his lap, asking for pets. Temporarily distracted, Bucky smiled and stroked her ears and scratched her nose gently. Her tail thumped against the floor.

The movie went on like this (Bucky was extremely satisfied when Gabriella yelled at Sharpay and broke up with Troy, even if temporarily). Then it, of course, ended happily like most of these movies and Sharpay ditched her bitch facade and danced with them like a decent person. Which she was not. She didn’t even get the character development to come remotely close to that.

American TV was sometimes really stupid, but at least it was entertaining… Sometimes. 

“Well, next week we’ll watch the third and be done with this.” Tony said, stretching his joints after making Rhodey help him sit up because he 'wasn’t as young as he used to be, but certainly not as old as Barnes and Noble'.

Clint stretched as well and somehow ended up falling off his and Natasha’s couch, throwing a pillow at Natasha when she snickered at him. She easily caught it and threw it at his face, making him fall back over.

“What did you think of that?” Steve asked Bucky quietly. Bucky gave him the most ‘are-you-serious-right-now’ face he possibly could and Steve barked out a loud, head throwing back slightly. 

“Yeah, okay, maybe it wasn’t the best, but at least Gabriella finally got Sharpay to shut up, huh?” Steve said, nudging him before going to stand. He held his hand out for Bucky, who took it and forced himself onto his legs again. Then they went to join the others in the elevators as they went back to their respective floors. Mango diligently followed Bucky and Steve, tail still wagging gently. 

“I don’t feel sorry for Troy, though,” Steve said, smirking at him as FRIDAY took them all up to their respective floors. Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Thor, and Bruce had already gotten to their floors by then, leaving only Pepper, Tony, and Rhodey with them. It was silent for the most part, other than some murmurs.

“Punk,” Bucky whispered and Steve grinned at him, mouthing back ‘jerk’. The elevator dinged at their floor and all three of them got off, saying their goodbyes to Pepper, Tony, and Rhodey. Steve and Bucky toed off their shoes at the door. 

Immediately, Mango walked over to the couch, which was littered with Steve’s drawing pads and art supplies, and picked out Bucky’s cheap old brown journal with her teeth and walked over to hand it to him. Bucky took it from her and rubbed her back with his flesh hand in thanks. 

“We still have some time for a late dinner, if you want,” Steve called from the kitchen as Bucky searched for a pencil.

Bucky hummed, finding one in between the cushions, and walked over to the kitchen. Steve was looking through the fridge.

“We still got pizza from yesterday? We could heat that up. ‘m not too hungry right now. I think I ate too much popcorn.” Bucky said softly. 

Steve nodded, grabbing the boxes and putting the slices on a tray and sticking them into the ready oven. Bucky settled himself at the large island in the centre of the kitchen, opening up his journal to write down the day’s events, or just anything he wanted to write. His therapist had suggested he do that since he’d already started after he began to remember things again. 

Mango sat next to his chair after she ate, calmly looking around the room and then back at him.

What should he write? He could write about the usual things: his morning runs with Steve and Sam (although, today Sam had been unavailable and he’d also missed movie night… Bucky didn’t really know why, though), stopping Steve from doing something stupid again, or maybe his gym session with Natasha and Clint. 

He could also write about the movie they watched, but it didn’t seem appealing enough. 

The oven beeped, signalling that the pizza was done heating up, and Steve came over and took it out, putting the slices on a big plate for them to share. Then he settled himself in the chair next to Bucky, taking out his phone and turning on some music.

Frank Sinatra’s voice echoed throughout the room, filling their comfortable silence as Steve drew something and Bucky tried to write something for today. It was peaceful, nice even, that they could sit like this without it being awkward. 

Maybe he could write about that.

Within a few minutes, the sounds of Bucky’s pencil scratching the paper combined with Steve’s, although Steve’s were softer as he gently sketched something out onto his paper. 

> _The others may have accepted my presence here in the tower, but I can tell they’re still wary around me. Besides Natasha and Steve of course. Clint is getting there. He understands the… brainwashing thing, or so he’s said. But Tony still looks at me with betrayal sometimes. Everyone else is a little awkward, like they don’t exactly know what to say to someone like me. Bruce is nice. He helps with keeping my “anxiety” under control (that’s what my therapist calls that weird panic feeling, anyway). He’s given me tea, too, says it’s “calming for the nerves”, which I think is a good thing? Anyway, it tastes good with honey._
> 
> _King T’Challa and Shuri check in sometimes. T’Challa is a good ruler. It’s nice to know he_ ~~_believes_ _trusts_~~ _thinks I’m a good person._
> 
> _Also, Sam is an idiot. He named a pigeon BORIS. Who names their child Boris???_

Satisfied with his entry (for now), he remembered to date it and closed it, reaching for a slice of pizza. He knocked Steve’s hand as he was bringing a slice toward him absentmindedly. Bucky snatched the slice from his hand and ran to the other side of the island.

“Buck! That was mine!” came Steve’s indignant cry and Bucky snorted, folding it in half and taking a huge bite out of it. Steve complained some more, trying to reach over and take it back, but Bucky danced away toward the fridge to get a glass of milk.

“I thought you were quicker than that, Steve,” Bucky said, chewing quickly, “Just sad.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve growled, but the quirk of his lips ruined it as he reached for a different slice. Bucky smiled victoriously, finishing off the slice with a few more big bites before swallowing and chugging his glass of milk.

“Slow down before you choke.” Steve chuckled, “Hey, what was that book you were reading the other night?” 

“I dunno, Stevie, you gotta be more specific than that,” Bucky said as he put his glass in the sink and washed his hands.

“Like two days ago. It had a blue cover, I think.” 

“That was _Percy Jackson_. Sam got offended when I told him I hadn’t read it yet, so I am now.”

“Is it good?”

“Decent. Not disappointing for the hype around it, anyway. Whatcha drawing?” Bucky asked, leaning against the counter. 

Steve blushed, instinctively coming up to cover it with his hands. “Nothin’ special.”

“Is it Boris?”

“No, it’s not Boris.”

“Hm… is it me?” Bucky asked, not entirely serious, but when Steve didn’t say anything, Bucky knew his answer.

“Aw, Stevie,” Bucky cooed teasingly. Steve flushed a little more, smacking him on the shoulder with his sketchbook.

“Quiet, you.” 

Bucky grinned widely, coming around to Steve’s side of the island again and trying to peek through his fingers. “Can I see it when it’s done?”

“Maybe, but only if you stop being nosy.” Steve poked his side with his pencil. Bucky leaned against him for a second before pulling away.

(Bucky also thought it was nice they could touch so casually. Maybe he’ll add that to his journal later.)

“‘Kay. I’m gonna go get ready for bed, see you in a while.”

Bucky walked out of the kitchen, heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. Mango trod after him. 

Their shared bathroom was large and quite luxurious, courtesy of Tony. There was a shower that was big enough to fit four, maybe five, regular-sized people (perhaps two or three supersoldiers, even though there would only ever be two from now on). The huge bathtub was against the other wall and it had jets on the sides along with a big container of bath salts and such. (He and Steve didn’t really mess with those very often, though, so there was still a lot of it left.) 

The shower tiles shone in the light when he flicked them on. The stone floor was still cold through his socks. Bucky walked up to the sink and fumbled with his electric toothbrush, putting a blob of toothpaste on the bristles.

There was no mirror in the bathroom. Mostly, that was because the first time Bucky had been in there, he had panicked and punched the glass at the sight of himself. Steve had found him huddled in the corner, crying and holding his left arm away from him, disgusted with himself.

Obviously, they had removed any mirrors on their floor after that. 

Bucky spat into the sink, swishing some water in his mouth and spitting it out again. Then he turned off the water, gently pulled the hair tie out of his hair, and brushed a comb through the tangles. He looked down and saw Mango sitting on his foot, looking up at him reverently. 

“Hey, Buck? Can I come in?” Steve said from outside, “I think I left my shirt in there this morning.”

“Yeah, come in. Door’s unlocked.” 

The door clicked open and Steve strode over to the shower area. As he passed him, Steve brushed his hand against his shoulder in greeting. Steve made a triumphant little noise when he found the shirt he was looking for in some corner where he’d thrown it and he made for the door again. 

“Thanks, Buck,” he said, squeezing his right shoulder before heading through the door again, probably back to their room. 

Bucky followed him after a few more minutes, but only after gently scooting his foot out from underneath Mango. 

Their room contained two beds and one dresser (because Steve and Bucky really didn’t have so many clothes to warrant two dressers). There was a long nightstand that stood between their beds and against the wall, a lamp resting on top of it (which was turned on at the moment). Steve’s room was closest to the window and Bucky’s was closest to the door.

Steve had already changed and gotten into bed, finishing his drawing with a content expression on his face. Bucky’s journal was on the nightstand, meaning Steve had grabbed it for him. 

Bucky went over to their dresser and picked out some pyjamas before going to his bed, facing away from Steve, to change. 

Once that was done, he climbed into his bed and grabbed his journal and the book he was reading. 

It might seem odd that they shared a room, especially if they were only friends, but… Mango could only do so much at night. 

The thing was, essentially, that they would sleep in the same room because they were the only ones somewhat equal in strength to each other. If one of them lapsed into a nightmare, they would be the only ones able to hold the other down so they didn’t hurt themselves or, perhaps, someone else. And if needed… take the other one out. It hadn’t been necessary yet, but the sentiment was reassuring. 

Bucky would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare. He wouldn’t remember who he was or _where_ he was, halfway to a panic attack at the thought of being _found_ again, or that he had lost his memories right after he’d gotten them back. At night, Steve didn’t look like Steve anymore - he only looked like a nameless face that would drag him back to the chair- 

That was until he shook him back to his senses and made him realise they were on the floor and Bucky’s hand was around Steve’s throat and Steve’s hands were on his shoulders.

To feel so wrong in his own skin was… horrifying, to say the least. And he never wanted to forget Steve again or hurt him, but he didn’t even know himself, how could he protect Steve from his own broken mind?

Never mind. Bucky didn’t want to think about it. He took a deep breath through his nose and opened his journal for the second time and wrote a little at the bottom:

> _P.S. - We both need touch. We both know that. I don’t think I’d want to be closer to anyone else. (Note to self: Don’t tell Natalia that.) Is it selfish to want to stop everyone else from touching him? I have no right to and it’s none of my business. Doesn’t make sense. Don’t want to tell him that, either, seems sort of… wrong when I say it out loud._
> 
> _P.P.S - We’re going out for lunch tomorrow. Steve wanted to try some authentic Vietnamese place or something like that. Sam is still unavailable for whatever reason. He won’t tell why. Getting sort of suspicious. Is he planning something? Guess I’ll have to wait and find out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is a little late. This chapter was a little difficult to get through, mostly because it was so different from the rest of the story. (P.S. - I don't claim to be an expert on service dogs and/or therapy, so if I get something wrong, I apologise. I tried to make it as accurate as possible, but my knowledge is limited.)


	6. August 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldier is put through some tests. Bucky misses Steve (but that's too cliche to say in a letter).

For the last few months, they had been keeping the Soldier in cryo as they entered the final stages of their planning. While it delayed the process of his rehabilitation, it was a necessary risk. They could not mess this up, especially when they were this far. 

Rolf was to go meet Alexei, a Russian operative who was a potential collaborator on the Winter Soldier project. Alexei and his people generally dealt with the training of spies and assassins, which was crucial for the Winter Soldier project. While Rolf knew Hydra was more than capable, he also knew that this was Alexei’s speciality, and they only wanted the best for their Soldier.

The meeting had been a short one and Rolf was delighted with how well they got on and how similar their views were. They both agreed that they had to save the people from themselves before it became too late and they destroyed everything, as the human race is naturally destructive. With enough _guidance,_ they would be able to see the mistakes they have made. They had to let Hydra correct their behaviour, but they were blind. _So_ blind, they had the audacity to fight _back_ against their efforts. They were so ungrateful. Why couldn't they _see?_ Why?!

Rolf tensed with anger, clenching his gloved fist tightly, fighting the urge to slam his knuckles against the wall. A prominent vein in his forehead was throbbing as he grew redder around the edges, but a few deep breaths - _in… out… in… out…_ \- he plastered on another strained smile as he grabbed his coat and walked out the door, barely looking at the guards as he left.

It was now August. Time to bring the Soldier back into the world.

When Bucky had regained consciousness again, harsh shivers were racking up his spine and down his limbs, his muscles stiff, skin turning into gooseflesh despite the air being significantly less chilled than before. 

Instead of dragging him off to their usual places, they did something different. One of the people that had been guarding him shoved a sack onto his head before he was led through all the different corridors, twisting and turning until he lost track of the direction they were heading, all the while with the cool metal of a gun pressed to the side of his neck.

Before long, his entire body was thrust into dry, heated air, and the faint light that could be seen from through the fabric faded to complete darkness. It was so _hot_ \- or maybe that was only because his entire body was frozen to the bone, he didn’t know. Regardless, Bucky broke out into a clammy sweat. 

They must be outside. Where were they taking him? Was their position compromised? Was someone coming to save Steve? He hoped so. 

Bucky wished there wasn’t a sack on his head, so he might be able to look around and see if they were taking Steve as well, or if they were leaving him behind. Everything was so quiet but still so much louder than he was used to - the walls of the Hydra base only containing the whispers of under-the-breath conversations, all in German (but he was getting better at understanding it now). No one to talk to. Bucky laughed humourlessly at himself in his head. His poor, social self was obviously suffering as well.

As he was dragged into the seat of some vehicle, he began to wonder what he would say to Steve if he were to ever see him again. As much as he wanted Steve to stay as far away from this place as possible, he knew that wasn’t the case, so he imagined them maybe passing each other in the hallway while they’re being carried who-knows-where. If he could actually see his face again, maybe that would give Bucky the strength to escape from that place with him. The sight of that blond hair and those blue eyes - even if they couldn’t talk to each other, that would be enough. To know that he was alright.

Bucky sighed underneath the stuffy bag as he was strapped to his seat (although, maybe the metal clamps were a bit excessive). They probably thought he would run away and scream for help. However, he knew that there was no one to hear him; he’d tried before. And he couldn’t run, not when Steve still needed him. He knew they would shoot him dead if he ran too far and who knows what they would do to Steve then? Probably make him take Bucky’s place. He’s already got the serum, hasn’t he?

Bucky tried to divert away from this dangerous thought but to no avail. If they had the perfect man right at their disposal, why keep Bucky? Why haven’t they killed him yet? Bucky wasn’t anything special. 

But there had to be a reason.

His thoughts were interrupted when the vehicle started, the wheels crunching against the gravel and dirt that made up the road. 

What would he say to Steve if he saw him? 

> _Dear Steve,_

Bucky thought that was a little cliche, but wasn’t everything at some point?

> _Dear Steve,_
> 
> _I miss you._

Bucky scrunched his nose at that. Yeah, okay, maybe a little _too_ cliche is bad. (But that didn’t make it any less true.)

> _Dear Steve,_
> 
> _Remember when you got really sick with the flu that one year?_

That sounded much better.

> _Remember when you got really sick with the flu that one year? The one where I had to work extra at the docks and I came back to find you looking half-dead one day? You were hardly breathing; your chest was barely rising and falling. If I wasn’t paying attention I would’ve thought you’d left without me._
> 
> _I never want to see you like that again. We joked about it later, but I was so scared that I would lose you. Too soon is too soon, got it? I’m going to make you live at least a couple more years with me. Come on. I just have to find out where you are. Please wait for me. We’ll get out of here, I promise. I just need a plan. Then you can get back to your girl and I can… Do whatever I want to do, I guess._
> 
> _Don’t go without me._
> 
> _Yours truly,_
> 
> _Bucky_

Bucky hadn’t dared look at his missing arm. Never, not once. He didn’t exactly know if it frightened him to look and see the stump where his left arm had been. It was certainly _gone;_ when he tried to move his fingers, there was only empty air and the feeling of his remaining muscles trying to carry out the demands, but failing to do so. 

Maybe he wasn’t just avoiding his arm. Actually… When was the last time he’d looked in a mirror?

Bucky didn’t even know what he looked like anymore.

Honestly, now that he thought about it… he didn’t really _want_ to. If he looked at himself and saw a stranger, what was he supposed to do? They were slowly chipping away at his mind (he’d figured that out sometime before they froze him again). If he didn’t look like the same person anymore, what was left of him? 

His mind moved back to the letter he mentally wrote to Steve. That memory would disappear, soon enough. A sense of gripping hopelessness overcame him when he realised… _He could forget everything._ He could look Steve right in the eye and not recognise him. He would be forgotten, just like every other memory they’d shared together. It would all be lost forever.

His chest clenched in on itself and he desperately wanted to record everything he remembered so maybe if he truly forgot everything one day, he could read it and remember, but he had nothing to write with, nothing to write _on._ There was nothing he could do. Except… Make a plan to escape.

Well, that was that. Bucky sat in the corner of his new cell and tried to figure out ways to escape. He could only hope he did it in time. Whatever this new place was, it probably wasn’t good. (It was also infinitely colder than before, but they didn’t bother giving him a blanket.)

Hours later, Bucky had made little progress. 

He didn’t know how long he would be staying in this new base or if he’d ever go back to the old one. This was unfamiliar territory, which was going to be a problem. He didn’t even know where the exits were. (God, he wished he had another brain to pitch in a new perspective, a fresh angle, anything. This was getting increasingly more tedious.)

That led him to think of getting outside help. He could convince one of the staff, maybe. He knew that was a terrible plan, but that was his only start at something that was at least mildly realistic and not a fantasy.

If he did manage to get someone to help him escape, he’d definitely have to be healthier than he was right now. The lack of food had made him a lot skinnier than before (Jesus, maybe even as skinny as Steve once was), and due to lack of exercise (getting beat up didn’t count as exercise), he wasn’t as fit as he used to be. 

(Getting kicked constantly also, _surprisingly,_ had its cons. His body was already in an unhealthy condition as it was, but since it had to heal all his bruises and pains as well, he feared his body was overworking itself. It would explain why he was so tired all the time.)

So that meant he had to stop being uncooperative when they force-fed him… The thought was humiliating, to say the least. Maybe at least they’d let him eat on his own this time, even though it had seemed he’d lost that privilege because of the first time… 

Maybe he could try to exercise inside his cell so he was at least a little stronger? 

Bucky jumped when the door to his cell swung open with a bang, flushing just a little as if he’d been caught red-handed. They couldn’t read his mind, right? He wouldn’t put it past them. Just to be safe, Bucky filled his mind with those sports magazines that Steve would burn for fun. (He thought they were stupid; not every dude is buff like that!)

The man who entered spoke in a quick whisper to a woman behind him, then grabbed Bucky, detaching the chain that connected itself to the tight clasp of metal around his torso.

“ _Пришло время для теста._ ” [translation: It is time for the test.] the man growled before Bucky was heaved through the endless corridors. 

“ _Schieße auf das Ziel,_ ” [translation: Shoot the target.] some nobody instructed him before he was led into a series of rooms. Bucky’s grasp of the German language was certainly getting far better, so at least this time he wouldn’t be punished for not knowing what they were saying. 

They handed him a shotgun as he was pushed through a door.

Bucky could only guess what they were doing, but the first thought that came to mind was that they were going to force him to kill someone. What would they do if he ignored them and didn’t shoot the person? Would they kill him?

There was only a mere, standard bullseye target in front of him, but Bucky had a gut feeling that he would be aiming the gun at something less inanimate sooner or later. 

“ _Schießen,_ ” [translation: Shoot.] someone instructed again over a microphone. 

Maybe they were trying to figure out his abilities?

Despite it being his non-dominant hand, Bucky held the shotgun in his right hand and held it up, aiming it carefully. He pulled the trigger.

The bullet hole was stark against the rest of the target: bullseye. 

They went through several tests over the past few days. The first obviously being his skill with a gun, which he knew was far better than everything else he was tested on. 

And each day after its test was done, Bucky was given a meal. The first time he received more food than before, he thought it was just because he was in a new place with different people. But he started noticing things: if he hesitated and didn’t cooperate during the test, he got less. If he did as he was told, he got more. 

It was conflicting. He wanted to get stronger so maybe, one day, he could rescue Steve and get them the hell out of there, but at the same time… a part of him still wanted to rebel against everything they told him to do. He knew there was no end other than being broken and bruised, but he felt like if he didn’t fight back he was giving in too easily, and the bastards that had captured him didn’t deserve that. He hated them. He hated them all. Every time they came back to go at him again, he felt a bubble of rage in the back of his throat, but there was nothing he could do about his situation. They kept punching even after he’d fallen to the ground and passed out. They just didn’t know when to stop. There would’ve been nothing better than making them pay for it.

But he couldn’t. He was far too weak. He was powerless. 

So, really, there was only one thing he could do. He had to obey them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry that this is late; I've been going through a few rough patches the past week or so. I also kept rewriting bits of it and I'm still not very happy with how it turned out, but hopefully the next chapter will be better.


	7. September - October 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl. A man. A knife. A word.

Something was wrong. Something _had_ to be wrong. 

He didn’t go back to the old base. Day in and day out, there would be some sort of task he was set to do. He would do it, he would be rewarded with a decent amount of food, and then he would be left to himself. Every once in a while they dragged him over to chip at his mind a little more. It was… repetitive. Mundane. That wasn’t right. So there had to be something wrong, something going on. If only someone would _tell_ him - how was the war going? Was his sudden cooperativeness _that_ surprising to them? 

The weeks - months? he didn’t know - went by. Everything, frustratingly, stayed the same. 

Detained again. Taken down the hallways again. Taken back to his cell. Again. Why was this a routine for him? He couldn’t let that happen. It used to be like this: wake up early, breakfast maybe, go to the docks, come home for lunch, try to convince Steve to come join a girl or two for a dance in the evenings, come back home tipsy (or maybe not), say goodnight to Steve, and repeat. But now it’s different, it was being replaced by something he would’ve been horrified at if he had heard of it before his capture. Unfreeze, task, food (maybe), wait, task, food (maybe), wait, electric chair (maybe), freeze, rinse and repeat. 

Bucky didn’t want to be a robot. He started equating it to one of those monotonous factory workers; the ones that did something so repetitive it was burned into their brains until they didn’t even have to think anymore… Even though he knew he was far different than any factory worker at the moment. He would prefer a job like that at a time like this, without question. But nevertheless, Bucky didn’t want to be stuck into an endless loop, going through things over and over until he went insane. He didn’t want this to be the norm. So it was time to do something about it, wasn’t it? 

But what could he do? 

Like always, he was being led down another hallway. Bucky knew there would only be a choice of two different places, so there wasn’t any ‘mystery’ surrounding anything anymore. He knew what to expect: another task, another blur in his memory (but he had gotten that over with recently, so he wasn’t going there). It was all the same. 

No, Bucky wouldn’t let it be the same, not this time. 

Three guards were escorting him this time. It was always three or four. He was special like that, he supposed. (Ha. Ha.) His one arm was trapped, twisted behind him with some sort of metal mechanism that they had created, specifically for him. He really _was_ special, wasn’t he? A metal cuff, all for him. 

Was he really losing his mind so quickly? Who in their _right_ mind would joke about something like that?

 _Fuck that,_ Bucky thought. _It doesn’t matter anymore._

They turned a corner, passing by a few other Hydra members. He’d seen them before. Hell, he’d seen a lot of these people multiple times. He had a theory that he was only walking down hallways that he had been given permission to walk on. (Well, _he_ hadn’t been given the permission, but the result remained the same.)

 _“He’s broken.”_ he heard one of them whisper in German. (Yes, he was finally fluent, at least in understanding it. Not so much with speaking it. He didn’t really know if they’d noticed that he could hear their conversations now, but they had definitely started speaking a lot more Russian around him.)

_“He’s not broken, he’s just realised the consequences to his actions. Speak no more of the matter, he can hear.”_

Ah, so they did know. The fact didn’t surprise him much. It seemed like they knew everything, but he knew that wasn’t true. Not yet. 

It appeared that he was set for another task today. How mundane. While it had been nice to have a change from the previous _routine_ (freeze, remind him of his position in life (trying to convince him he was the scum of the earth was sort of working), mind blur, repeat), this one had grown far too familiar.

The tests were obviously to gauge his skills. With a gun, language, combat, it didn’t matter. All they needed was information about him. More than they could get than from just intense surveillance, apparently.

Bucky was used to being stared at by now. And not just with curiosity, but with a blank stare, the one you gave to inanimate objects and toys you used to play with when you were little. At first, it had been unsettling, but he’d begun to understand, in a way. They don’t treat him like a normal person. Maybe he isn’t? A normal person, that is. That sounded stupid now that he thought of it. Of course he was human, he had always been human. But was he _now?_

He was back to square one. Why him?

There was a woman there that caught his eye. Well, she was more of a young girl than a lady. Far too young to be caught in a business like this, right? (Excluding himself because he obviously didn’t count.)

And fair, too. She had pretty blonde locks that framed her face in the ponytail she’d put it up in, reflecting a golden colour even in the harsh white light that illuminated the room. She was in the standard women’s uniform for Hydra: a grey uniform with red linings with a skirt and stockings instead of pants, the Hydra symbol on the upper left chest area. But she was different; she was also wearing a little necklace with blue gems that brought out her eyes and some black Mary Janes. Bucky had seen the dames at school wear those all the time before he’d dropped out. 

But the _point_ was that she didn’t look at him the same. It was a different kind of stare. Only for a split second - because, after all, you need to be professional if you want to work in Hydra - but Bucky could’ve sworn there was something in her eyes. Pity? Horror? 

Was there a difference?

That didn’t matter. All that mattered is that there was something different in her eyes. Maybe they hadn’t gotten to her yet. 

Someone smacked the back of his head. 

_“Обращать внимание!”_ [translation: Pay attention!] they sneered before grabbing the back of Bucky’s hair and yanking his head up so he looked them in the eye. 

_“Одна ошибка - и ты мертв. Понял?”_ [translation: One mistake and you are dead. Understood?]

Bucky could only glare back in response. 

He was released roughly before another person came over and handed him a simple combat knife. It was different from the ones they had introduced to him in the army; this one had a black, wooden handle that was curved to fit his hand a certain way. The blade had a clip point and larger ricasso. The guard was curved into an S shape*. 

What the hell did they want him to do with this? Bucky flipped it round in his hand a couple of times, trying to get a feel for it.

The metal’s lustre shone brightly every time he flipped it around. 

Nobody stepped over to tell him to do something with it. Eventually, he got bored and just held it in one hand, turning to look for someone and demand what he was supposed to do, but he suddenly realised the room was empty save for one person, who was slowly advancing closer and closer to him. A similar knife was held in their hand.

The man was masked, so he couldn’t see his face. He was quite broad, muscular in a way that Bucky could never be. He was wearing some sort of metal armour, but Bucky couldn’t fathom why. Until the man took a swing at him and Bucky instinctively ducked to avoid the fist. What the _fuck_ was going on? What the f-

The man aimed a kick at his legs, but he dodged it. He only had one arm. What the hell was he supposed to do, fight back?

Bucky caught a glimpse of the sharp gleam of metal coming towards him. Too caught up in his thoughts, it almost buried itself in his side, but Bucky jumped back just in time, only getting a shallow scrape.

He wasn’t good in hand to hand combat. That was why he took out the guys from afar. Shit. Shitshit _shit-_

Bucky blocked the knife again, trying to escape, but all the doors were closed. He was stuck here. Were they trying to kill him? 

Bucky couldn’t die like this, God damn it. 

He aimed a kick at the man’s knee. It landed, but he didn’t seem at all perturbed. Bucky blocked the knife from stabbing him in the eye, then tried to stick him in between the ribs. The man grabbed his arm and knocked his knife away, twisting him around, arm immobile, and held the knife against his neck. 

He… released him? 

_“Time: 1 minute, 23 seconds. Again.”_ The German voice over the speakers announced. Bucky was breathing hard. A certain thrill, a spurt of adrenaline rushed through his veins. What just happened? He was handed his knife again- 

The man rounded on him again and Buck upper blocked him. That left him open in the torso - the man punched him. He tried not to keel over and gasp for air. Didn’t work. He curled over anyway. Breathe, please, just- 

Nearly a blow to the head, but he manoeuvered away, almost falling over in the process. 

This time he anticipated the knife coming and grabbed the arm, knocking the knife out and- He was hit on the back and he hit the ground with a painful thud. 

His lungs weren’t working, spasming inside his chest. He wheezed, hoping he could stay on the ground a little longer, but he was hauled up again. 

_“Time: 1 minute, 10 seconds.”_

They started again. He lasted somewhat longer this time, starting to get the rhythm of things, but he was suddenly punched in the nose, making his eyes water excessively, although it didn’t hurt that much. Vision blurry, he hadn’t been able to stop the knife from cutting his arm, or the leg that kicked him to the ground. 

1 minute, 57 seconds.

Again. He managed to knock the man’s knife out of his hand again, which he counted as a major accomplishment. Approximately two seconds later he was on his back again, his own knife pressed against his throat.

2 minutes, 3 seconds. 

Again.

1 minute, 34 seconds.

Again.

1 minute, 55 seconds.

He was so exhausted. They hadn’t even been doing this for that long, really, but he just wanted to sink into the floor and call it a day.

A couple more times and it _finally_ came to an end. The man walked out, Bucky was restrained again, and he was hopeful for another few hours of sleep. His highest time had been something like 2 minutes and 35 seconds. Considering it was against a man that was at least five times more healthy and fit than he was, he counted that as a victory. 

They were in a lab room again. He was too tired to fight back when he was strapped to the table, just grateful he didn’t have to stand anymore; all his limbs, bones, eyelids, everything - they felt heavier than if a set of weights was dragging him underwater. 

They dressed the multitude of cuts he’d gotten and sponged him down a bit. It felt kind of nice, actually. He hated feeling dirty like this all the time, so whenever they deigned to actually wash him, it was a relief. Not that it was entirely effective with him strapped to the table on his back, but he would take what he could get.

His mind turned back over to the… was it training? It had to be. 

The word _why_ echoed around his skull, but he knew there would never be an answer given to him. 

When he was taken out of the lab room again, he was fully expecting to be taken back to his holding cell, which he had learned was relatively close. However, after a minute or so of turning around corridors and being led further and further away, a chilling feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. 

It was too soon. He’d been taken there very recently, why were they taking him again? His entire body tense the longer they walked, his throat closing up, fearing to breathe, fearing that if he did he would suddenly be in shackles, trapped in that chair until his throat was ripped apart from screaming. 

Too soon, too soon- Bucky dug in his heels when they entered the room, trying to stay just before the threshold, but he was poked in the back with something that burned so intensely throughout him that he jerked forward with a yelp, panting now, hyperventilating-

Yelling before it had even started, trying to get away from the chair if only to escape it for a few more seconds- if he had only a little more time to mentally prepare himself, just a little-

They forced him into the chair, locked his arm and legs and torso in place. It felt new, meaning that they had changed something. 

_“Начнем с выбивного слова. Когда мы это усовершенствуем, мы перейдем к другим.”_ [translation: We will start with the knock out word. When we have perfected that, we will move on to the others.] 

A man told this to someone as he entered. He looked important, but Bucky really didn’t care anymore. Following him was someone familiar - the one that had questioned him all those months ago. He hadn’t changed a bit, still standing ramrod straight with a disgustingly superior smirk on his face. His skin crawled at the sight, remembering the emptiness that had been his thoughts when he last saw him. 

The time he had forgotten Steve, if only for a few seconds. 

_“Begin,”_ the German ordered someone, who immediately complied. A mouthpiece was crammed into his mouth at the last second, only hindering his ability to breathe as he was slowly lowered back. 

When he said that he didn’t want this to become a routine, this was definitely _not_ what he had meant. 

It seemed to last forever and ever and everything burned, why wasn’t he dead yet? Please, just kill him, no more, make it stop, please, stop it, stop- 

_“Stop.”_

He cried with relief. The chair lowered. He was released. Everything was blank.

 _“Soldat?”_ The Russian asked. The Soldier could only stare at him, not recognizing anything, just immensely grateful that it was _over,_ they’d made it stop, they saved him-

More tears began to build in Bucky’s eyes and soon he couldn’t do anything but fall on his knees, sobbing. 

_“Sputnik.”_ The man ground out and that was all he heard before something bashed him on the head and his eyes rolled back, falling to the ground in a heap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The knife they give Bucky is an NR-40, also known as the “black knife”. It was used by the Russians during World War II, among others in the NR series, like the NR-43. It was meant to be held upside-down, making it easier to conceal when attacking the enemy, so the handle is shaped to fit your hand that way. 
> 
> For those that don't know already, World War II ended on September 2, 1945. 
> 
> (Sorry this is, yet again, late. A lot of deadlines suddenly sprung up earlier this week and I had to work to meet them.)


	8. 1945 - 1949

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the course of four years, many things change for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Deterioration of faith, suicidal thoughts, and uh... blood. And murder. If any of these things triggers, offends, or hurts you in some way, I strongly advise you not to read this.

WINTER 1945

The end of the war (September 2, 1945) did not affect Hydra’s power very much in the long run. In fact, it only made them all the stronger, despite the death count that had built up. It would be hard to get new recruits, but in the meantime, they would focus on getting a hold on the U.S. 

Zola was recruited under Operation Paperclip and taken to the United States, and while it made communication far harder than before, they were able to talk every four months or so to exchange reports. The U.S. was starting to think about making an anti-terrorism agency, which was perfect; they could expand their ranks from within. Zola just needed a little more time to gain their trust and establish the makings of their new Hydra. Only then would he be free to work on the Winter Soldier project more closely. 

In the meantime, Rolf and Alexei continued to work on the Winter Soldier project without him, but time was of the essence. They needed to hurry along the process, which meant it was time to give the Soldier another toy to play with.

 _“You have double-checked the plans Zola sent?”_ Rolf asked Alexei, who nodded.

_“We have the base for the arm ready, but cannot move on without your approval.”_

_“Is that so?”_

_“Of course, we all want to be on the same page.”_ Alexei’s eyes twinkled when he looked at him. Rolf smirked.

_“So the calibration is ready? Have you started the defence mechanism?”_

_“Not yet,”_

Alexei opened the door for him when they finally came to it, inputting a small code into the lock, and closed it behind the both of them. The few in the lab were all in different stations, working on different parts of the bionic arm. The base structure was set onto a different table so none of them accidentally knocked it over, it being in the precarious state it was in. 

_“So this is it, then?”_ Rolf said, examining what would soon be a revolutionary piece of engineering.

_“This is it. Do you like it?”_

_“It’s beautiful.”_ Rolf breathed, ghosting his gloved hand over it in clear admiration. _“How long until we can attach it?”_

 _“No longer than a month or two at most. After all, we have our best people working on it.”_ Alexei rumbled softly, staring intently at Rolf with a calculated smile on his face. Rolf nodded, eyes still captivated with the shining metal attachment on the table. 

_“Good,”_

Bucky tore at his hair, swallowing down a scream, tears pricking at his dry eyes. His head hurt so _much,_ why wouldn’t the pain go away? God, it felt like his brain was loose in his skull and every time he so much as twitched, another wave of nausea flooded through his body, making him choke off another sob. He couldn’t let them hear, they’d know it was getting to him, so he held his breath and waited until his body stopped heaving to finally draw in a shaky breath. Then the cycle repeated, tiring him out so he had no choice but to pass out on the frozen stone floor. 

Bucky had no idea what was happening to him. It was almost as if he was drunk after each chair session; everything was a blur, but he could remember everything, even if only in flashes. It was slowly becoming longer and longer before he could sober up again. If only he could bang his head against the wall each time it happened in a desperate attempt to keep himself from falling farther and farther… and farther… 

He squinted his eyes against the bright light of the room, groaning as he tried to remember what had woken him. His limbs ached from the uncomfortable position he had fallen asleep in, causing him to wince as he rolled over flat onto his back. 

_“… Soldat?”_ someone whispered. Bucky made a small noise in the back of his throat, not exactly ready to get up yet. 

_“Geht es dir gut, Soldat?”_ [translation: Are you alright, Soldier?] asked the voice again, laced with concern. Bucky frowned. Why were they asking him that?

“‘M… fine…” he breathed out, his lungs feeling far too big for his chest. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to enjoy the solitude before he was yanked back up again.

 _“Äh, ich habe dein Essen? Soll ich… es hier setzen?”_ [translation: Er- I have your food? Should I… put it here?] she whispered. Bucky heard the tap of a tray being set onto the floor next to him. 

He didn’t have the strength in him to do anything but hum, lolling his head over towards her. Blinking his eyes open, he squinted blurrily up at her.

Oh. It was the girl. 

She still looked the exact same as when he’d first seen her, except her blonde curls were put up. Her eyes were a beautiful bright sky blue, her lashes long and fanning against her cheeks whenever she blinked. Her lips were painted red and she looked almost angelic with the light shining behind her, illuminating all the curves of her face. 

Was he dying?

He shot up, startling her. His breath quickened, heart beating faster to reassure him that, no, he was still alive. He was still breathing and he would keep breathing until he couldn’t anymore, damn it. 

He darted his eyes toward her again, daring to steal another glance of the concern on her face. 

Maybe… Maybe she was different. From the others that worked here. 

_“Annaliese! Remove yourself from the Soldier’s quarters.”_ a voice growled over the speakers and she straightened again, regaining a cool façade. 

_“Yes, sir,”_ she replied obediently, carefully walking over to the door to exit the room. She paused, looking over her shoulder at Bucky, a small furrow between her eyebrows again. Bucky had the strange urge to smooth it away. 

The voice over the speakers barked her name out again. She left quickly after that. 

SPRING 1946

Rolf was… uncomfortable. It confused him a little. Perhaps it was just nervousness over the impending operation? 

But, no, he knew that wasn’t the explanation for it all. It was Alexei.

Something was off about him lately. Maybe Rolf was paranoid, but he was certain something had changed about the man since he had first met him. He was quieter, but he stared at him more. He stared at _everything_ with that discomfiting gleam in his eye. 

Rolf liked to think he was particularly perceptive. He could read the body language of any person and determine if they were genuine or deceitful, but with Alexei, he had no idea. 

It… it frightened him. Just a bit. But perhaps that was just how he was when one got to know him? And he did train the most efficient assassins, maybe it was a defence tactic.

Then there was Annaliese. He knew she was loyal to him, but her heart was far too soft - being the younger sibling, she had been far more shielded in her youth. He worried for her. If she were anyone else, he would’ve been rid of her the second she showed empathy for the Soldier, but he couldn’t do that. Not to her. 

She had been so eager to join ranks with him, to show her worth, and he couldn’t say no to her when she gave him those pleading eyes. 

Rolf scowled at himself. He was getting weak. He knew Annaliese could be incredibly manipulative if she wanted to be. As her brother, he really should be able to resist her, but apparently, he couldn’t. 

Taking a deep breath, he decided to put it out of his mind for the time being. Anyway, he had a lot of work to do if he was going to be prepared for the Soldier’s operation, which was only a few days away now. 

So far, Annaliese was exactly how she looked: an angel. But, you could never be too sure of another’s intentions. Bucky had learnt that the hard way, certainly. 

There was a corner where he could just get out of the camera’s view. She could slip him a note there inconspicuously and no one would notice, usually ones asking if he was hungry. (She also brought him another pillow at one point, which was nice. Even though they took it away shortly afterwards.) 

But she hadn’t shown up for a while now. He was taken to the lab more often for measurements, people ran down the corridors, always in a rush to get things done. Was the war over? 

Bucky’s thoughts spiralled downward. It just _had_ to be him that kept Steve from going home? He could’ve been sitting in their apartment, doodling the silly little birds he likes to draw, but instead, he was somewhere here, being held as leverage over Bucky, to get him to cooperate. And god damn it, it was working. He had no choice, no voice over his situation.

If there really is a god out there, why was this happening? What had he done to deserve this? Had he been forgotten, cast aside? Was it a test for a better life? What had he done? He’d liked it as it was before. What had he done? 

Was Bucky not worth saving? 

Fuck. No, he couldn’t think about this, not right now. So much was happening, too much, he couldn’t get his head around it, why was he losing it all right after he’d gotten it? 

Bucky was being carried down to the lab again. He didn’t have the heart to care anymore. Maybe someday he would make it out of here, even if it took a million years, but for the moment…

What was the point?

What was the point in living anymore? In breathing, in laughing, in dying? It was all the same. There was no point. 

Would Steve be able to look him in the eye after this?

Why couldn’t the pain stop?

He wanted to go home. Was that too much to ask for?

 _I can’t find myself through the fog,_ Bucky thought quietly to himself, _Who am I?_

She was there. Had she been trying to earn his trust for this? Why was her makeup streaked with tears? 

Bucky rolled his head back until he was staring blankly at the ceiling. He was back here, where he’d started. It seemed he was always in this chair now. It was almost part of him - the pain was always there, the loss of his identity slowly becoming the entire facet of this new personality. 

It was a near pavlovian response when his chest started heaving in anticipation as he was tilted back one more time, just-

His mind went blank as the life left in him started to falter with every scream he was forced to give out. 

> _Dear Steve,_
> 
> _I’m sorry._
> 
> _Yours truly,_
> 
> _Bucky Barnes_

He was led back to the lab room. He followed. He had nowhere else to go. 

Two guards on either side. Doors lined the corridors. He was dragged into one of them. 

One told him to sit. He did. 

Fingers snapped near his ear. He did not respond.

_“Soldat? On the table.”_

His muscles immediately obeyed, but something inside him was screaming for everything to stop. To bang his head against the wall until the water in his ears stopped drowning out his thoughts. Drowning out-?

He was strapped to the table. He stared at the ceiling. Something was injected into him. The world faded to black. 

Bucky woke up in the middle of the operation. It took a few seconds for them to notice that the sedative they had given him had worn off quicker than normal. 

But when the tears started rolling down his cheeks and he violently thrashed to get away from the cutting pain, he turned to look at the source of his pain, there was a small saw cutting away more of his arm. 

There were the beginnings of a robotic arm on the table.

Hyperventilating again. This couldn’t be happening, no, not this, he didn’t want this, get it off, get it off-

They’d slapped him across the face to shut him up, telling him to stop whining like a dog. He was stabbed him in the arm with another needle before he could scream anymore.

Everything was sore. His shoulder throbbed. Things swam, things faded into the background. The Soldier opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh light. There was an ice cube in his mouth, the cold slowly melting as he sucked on it. He shouldn’t feel sore, why was he sore? 

_“Soldat?”_

More fingers snapping against his ear.

_“Can you hear us, Soldat?”_

His left arm was not strapped to the table. 

Why couldn’t he feel it?

Everything was cold.

More snapping.

_“Soldat?”_

He lifted his arm. It was heavier than normal. He couldn’t feel it. 

Glancing down- 

The light shone brightly against the metal. He flexed his new fingers, the cold starting to seep into his chest.

Something inside of him was trembling, but a sudden resurgence of anger washed away every other thought. 

_“Soldat?”_

One of the doctors crept closer to examine their… their work. 

_“Can you hear me, Soldat?”_

The voices were annoying. The voices needed to shut up.

He didn’t even think when his hand shot out to choke the doctor that went to snap his fingers near his ear again. 

He felt nothing as he squeezed tighter. He didn’t stop until another needle was stabbed into his flesh.

The words were whispered in reverence, the voice terrifyingly familiar: _“He will be the new fist of Hydra.”_

The chair again. He came to his senses through pain.

When it was over, a man walked up, calm and composed. Then he punched him in the face. Again. And again. Until his nose was starting to bleed, his eye socket blue and purple. 

He did nothing. He couldn’t do anything. Why wasn’t he doing anything? 

Something inside of him was crying out for him to do something, but none of his limbs made to do anything. 

_“Are you listening, Soldier? How DARE you attack your superior!”_ the man growled in Russian. The man backhanded him across the side of his face. 

_“You start listening to me, or there will be consequences,”_ he growled before stalking out the door, a little more dishevelled than when he came. 

FALL 1947

The Soldier ducked the leg that swung at him, using his angle to take his opponent’s legs out from under her. Mid flip, his opponent twisted rapidly to launch herself behind him, taking him to the ground with her. She held him in a chokehold. 

The Soldier roughly slammed his elbow into the soft flesh of her side, but she wouldn’t yield, only giving out a grunt. He gasped for air, starting to turn a little purple. He struggled for a few more seconds before aiming a punch at her face, landing it on the side of her nose. 

She gasped in pain, loosening her hold for only a moment. He flipped them over and slammed her head against the floor and punched her in the jaw. Her eyes rolled back. She went unconscious. 

Blood was coating the floor. He panted with exertion. 

_“Restrain him!”_ someone shouted. 

_“SPUTNIK!”_

Abruptly, the Soldier’s eyes jerked toward the inside of his skull and he swayed, tilting over and falling to the ground without any resistance. 

Everyone was tense. They hadn’t anticipated that the Soldier would become so… _out of hand_ when he was in his natural state. The Soldier was certainly full of surprises.

But this was good. He was enhancing his abilities, slowly moving up through his training. Soon he would become the best. 

Currently, the Soldier was clamped to a chair, specially made to resist the strength of his metal arm. He made no indication that he was aware of his surroundings. 

_“Are you ready to listen, Soldier?”_

He nodded slowly.

_“Stand up.”_

The Soldier was released from his restraints. He slowly pushed himself to his feet.

 _“You only obey your handler.”_ the man instructed, _“Any other behaviour will be punished. Do you understand? We know what is best for you. You must listen to us.”_

The Soldier said nothing, but he was in visible conflict.

Alexei sighed. 

_“Put him in cryo. He’s become too unruly.”_

_“Hail Hydra.”_ Rolf greeted as he entered.

 _“Hail Hydra,”_ Alexei agreed offhandedly. 

_“How is the Soldier?”_

_“He is being… difficult. I think a long rest in cryo will fix that.”_

_“But what if the U.S.S.R. is attacked…?”_

_“The U.S. wouldn’t have the guts to do that. Besides, we’ll be ready. He’ll be ready.”_

Rolf was reassured by how confident Alexei sounded, but he still made sure not to stand too close to the man. 

Alexei had been short in temper recently. It was for the best that he didn’t annoy him any further.

 _“How is your sister?”_ Alexei asked casually. 

_“She is… distraught. I feel she does not think that what we are doing is the… right course of action. She really shouldn’t be working so closely to him.”_

Alexei only hummed.

_“I was thinking of firing her-”_

_“NO!”_ Alexei rounded, suddenly furious. At Rolf’s startled expression, he relaxed his demeanour slightly. 

_“I only mean that she is an invaluable part of this program. I could not afford to lose her.”_

Rolf nodded slowly in agreement, but his heart was not in it. 

WINTER 1948

Bucky’s body was doubled over in grief, his legs brought up to his chest and his arms _(both of them,_ he thought in terror) wrapped tightly around his knees. 

Only one thought rang throughout his mind: _I’m a monster. I’m a monster. I’m a monster._

He didn’t think _he_ could look at Steve after this, lest his face is twisted into disgust and horror. Bucky wouldn’t blame him. 

Why couldn’t he just control himself? Why couldn’t he stop it? Was he really that weak? 

The sound of the cell door opening broke him from his thoughts. It was her. 

A hot wave of shame trickled up the back of his head and he turned away from her, ashamed he let someone so pretty and _kind_ see him like this. Her heels clicked closer and she knelt next to him.

Tentatively, she rested a hand on his shoulder and Bucky instinctively flinched away. 

He couldn’t bear to look at her and see her expression. He knew it was not something he wanted to see. 

She took her hand back as if she had been bitten and set down his tray. 

Then he was all alone again.

> _Steve,_
> 
> _I’m so sorry. I hope you can move on and forget about me. I’m so sorry. Please_ _forgive me. Please forget me._
> 
> _\- Bucky_

Annaliese walked away from the Soldier’s cell with a heavy heart, tears in her eyes. This was so wrong. Surely there was another way they could win? There had to be. This was terrible. She didn’t want to have any part in it. 

Maybe she should resign. But who would help the Soldier escape then? He couldn’t stay here. With every passing day, the sadness in his eyes grew darker and he fought less and less. It was inhumane what they were doing to him. She wanted to help him. She _was_ going to help him.

Her mind made up, Annaliese went down the hall with a renewed sense of purpose, when she was suddenly grabbed and dragged into an empty room. A hand closed over her mouth to stop her from screaming.

 _“Don’t,”_ Alexei whispered into her ear.

Annaliese held her breath in fear. 

_“Are you listening? Good. Listen closely. I am_ watching _you, do you understand? I will not have you ruining everything.”_

Annaliese nodded quickly, eyes wide. Alexei smiled, satisfied, removing his hand from her mouth. His hand was smudged with her lipstick and the once sharp lines of Annaliese’s red mouth were smeared. 

Alexei spun her around and crowded her close to the wall. The closer he got, the more she froze up, wanting to run, escape, _anything._

_“I need you to do something for me,”_ he whispered intimately into her ear. 

She fearfully nodded her head. Alexei brought his thumbnail up to her face, fixing her lipstick while her bottom lip trembled. 

SPRING 1949

On one sunny morning, Rolf was found dead in his chambers, throat slit clean with a knife.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late yet again, but this was a monster of a chapter. I made up for it by making this the longest so far, right? Right.


	9. 1949 - 1955

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annaliese is distant at first, but then she's not.

EARLY SUMMER 1949

_ “These are unfortunate times,” _ Alexei stated grimly.  _ “But we will use that to our advantage. I have been informed that the first nuclear test will be very soon, but what the future holds is still unknown.” _

It had been some number of weeks after Rolf’s death, during which there had been an immense scuffle for power over Hydra - one that Alexei had anticipated. With a few well-planned accidents, suddenly the position was open, his for the taking. It certainly helped that people thought Rolf would’ve wanted him to take control; after all, they had been somewhat-friends.

This meeting would mark the beginning of his control. Anyone who opposed would either have to quickly rethink their decisions or, unfortunately, pay the price. For now, he would have to root out the remaining weak spots. 

Alexei didn’t make the rules in this particular game, but he knew how to play it well. 

Glancing over at Annaliese absentmindedly, he once again scared her into silence with a single look. 

He would still need to figure out what to do with her, but all in due time.

_ “The United States thinks it knows what’s best for the rest of the world. Communism is not something that needs to be destroyed, but rather, something that should be celebrated. The equality of all people is the goal, is it not? But the United States is so contradictory,”  _ Alexei sighed, _ “they think they are so great, but they aren’t any better than everyone else. What they call freedom is just slavery for a greater power. We want to free the people, yet they fight back as if we are the evil in this world. The U.S. has gotten too cocky, someone needs to keep them in their place.”  _

Everyone standing along the edges of the room slowly nodded in agreement, some more enthusiastically than others. Alexei made a mental note on who seemed more reluctant. 

_ “Release the Soldier from cryostasis.”  _

They were going through a warm-up sequence for the Soldier, but he still seemed groggy and disoriented from cryo. Mind wiping had only done so much in that regard. 

The Asset swung another punch as his opponent, but it was easily blocked and countered with a swift blow to the gut. The Soldier doubled over with a wheeze, giving his opponent the advantage. The Asset was knocked over the head, which was all it took for him to go sprawling across the floor, landing painfully on his heavy metal arm. 

_ “Get up,” _ his fighter hissed, grabbing at his shoulder. 

Bucky shook his head, trying to get rid of the fog and the intense headache he had. 

_ “Where am I?” _ he groaned in German, resting his head against the cool stone floor. 

_ “Shit!” _

_ “No, don’t knock him out just yet. This could be useful information.”  _ a Swiss-accented voice interrupted. Bucky’s stomach crawled in recognition.  _ He was here. _

“Long time, no see, Soldier.” Zola chirped. Bucky’s brain stuttered to a halt - this was the first time anyone had addressed him in English since… since… He didn’t even know. 

He was strapped to some sort of table, except it was angled so he was upright rather than horizontal. There also appeared to be… wheels at the bottom? 

“What the fuck do you want?” Bucky croaked, letting his head hang between his shoulders.

God, he hated the way his head always throbbed when he woke up, how his vision would be spotted black every time he stood up too fast. How sometimes the light was too bright, and other times it was too dark. He hated how he would look at his hands -  _ both of them _ \- and he couldn’t even recognize them. One was metallic and while he could move it perfectly well, he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers and thumbs if he pressed them together. The other was flesh and bone and smudged with dirt, far rougher than they were before, calloused from things he remembered in vivid detail, but didn’t remember  _ doing. _ It was like someone else’s memories were planted into his brain and he was forced to live with them as if they were his own. 

“That isn’t a nice thing to say to your friends, Soldier,” Zola reprimanded but didn’t so much as lift a hand to hit Bucky. “There is something we need to discuss. We have already taken your vitals, but I need… more. You know this man, yes?”

Zola held up a coloured photograph of-

Bucky struggled for a minute, squinting at the picture… 

_ Steve.  _

Bucky relaxed again. In the end, the name didn’t matter. Not really. He knew that face, had looked at it so many times that every single one of its curves was burnt into his brain. This was the person he was going to save. Eventually. If he had any chance of getting out in the first place. 

But how to answer Zola?

Apparently, he had taken too long. A wide smile overtook Zola’s features and Bucky recoiled at the sight of it. 

“Excellent.”

_ What’s that supposed to mean??, _ Bucky panicked.  _ Wait- no- turn this thing around. Turn around! Turn around! _

That didn’t stop them from wheeling him out into a different area. Bucky didn’t like this room. It was far bigger than any of the others he’d been in, and somehow even darker, the flickering of blue light coming only from the wires that climbed the walls and the ceiling. The room was circular in shape. At its centre- 

Zola flicked a switch and a light startled to life with a loud noise, and like a spotlight from the heavens, it shone down on a singular seat in the centre of the room. It was a very complicated piece of machinery, intricate in a way Bucky would probably never fully understand. But he knew that chair all too well. 

If one were to ask the Soldier ‘who is Captain America?’ he would not know. If one were to ask him ‘who is Steve Rogers?’ - well… He didn’t know  _ anymore.  _

But there was still a weak area. Alexei thumbed the photograph of that skinny, weak-looking kid that seemed to make the Soldier break through every time. He didn’t know what part of the kid it was; they had gotten rid of his name. As far as Alexei knew, Steve Rogers didn’t have any nicknames. They had gotten rid of ‘Steven’ and ‘Grant’ just in case. 

But the picture… Perhaps it was his face in general? They could do that. 

Alexei looked over at Zola, who was going over some calculations with some other scientists. 

_ What else can this man create?, _ Alexei wondered. 

EARLY FALL 1949

On August 29, 1949, the USSR detonated their first nuclear test. Code-name: RDS-1. The monopoly the U.S. had on the atomic bomb was now altered. A new race for power had begun.

WINTER 1950

Bucky’s skin was so stiff that it ached. Shivering, he huddled closer to himself. Everything seemed much colder; ever since he got this new arm, the entire left side of his body was frozen, as if ice trickled through his veins with every breath. 

The door opened, revealing Annaliese, decked out in a fur coat, carrying his tray.

The water had frozen over. Everything was stale. Things had been getting worse for a while, the food becoming scarcer and the heating shorting out every few hours until it just turned off completely. With a shaking hand and a dry throat, Bucky grasped at the little metal cup and attempted to warm it between his thighs. 

That was when something caught his eye. A little slip of paper was tucked into the ice.

Peering closer, there seemed to be… letters. 

Bucky's heart pounded. He wrapped his cold fingers around the cup, trying to get it to warm up faster to melt the ice, so he might be able to read the message. 

He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers anymore by the time he was able to gently pull the paper out of the ice, but he didn’t care. God, if this was what he thought it was… 

The message read in its entirety:

> _ A (ah), B (bay), C (tsay), D (day), E (ay), F (eff), _
> 
> _ G (gay), H (hah), I (eeh), J (yot), K (kah), L (ell), _
> 
> _ M (em), N (en), O (oh), P (pay), Q (koo), R (air), _
> 
> _ S (es), T (tay), U (ooh), V (fow), W (vay), X (iks), _
> 
> _ Y (oopsilohn), Z (tset), ß = (ss) _
> 
> _ Ich weiß nicht, wie viel Deutsch du verstehst. Ich  _
> 
> _ habe das Alphabet für dich geschrieben. _
> 
> _ [ _ _ I don't know how much German you understand.  _
> 
> _ I wrote the alphabet for you.] _

Bucky thought that English was helpful, although suddenly seeing sentences again seemed to shock his brain. Overall, the note seemed pretty much harmless - almost useless, but not quite. Perhaps it was just a test, to see if the message could get through to him.

But why now?

Annaliese was haunted at every turn by the expression on her dead brother’s face when she had found him that morning. She had known that Alexei couldn’t be trusted, but she hadn’t known how far he would go. 

It was  _ her _ fault that Rolf was dead. He had trusted her. Why had she been so  _ weak? _ Why couldn’t she have fought back?

Her chest felt tight as she pursed her lips together, trying to keep everything inside. No one could know. Alexei could easily find a way to get rid of her - if there was so much as a crack in her mask, she would be murdered before first light tomorrow. 

She could have only imagined what had gone down that night.  _ Poor Rolf!,  _ her mind cried.

_ It had been a long day. Rolf was honestly ticked off when Annaliese had insisted he stay behind in his office that night. The excuse _ ‘I have something to show you, stay here’  _ was slowly becoming less interesting as the night wore on. _

_ But… Rolf knew his sister far too well. Something was bothering her. Maybe this would show him what the problem was?  _

_ He sighed when he remembered her face the moment she had seen the Soldier. So full of  _ pity, _ it was frankly disgusting. It was probably a great burden on her to carry the knowledge that she could not do anything to help him.  _

_ The Soldier was always a broken man.  _ That _ is what she doesn’t see. Even before the war, before they had even found the Soldier, he had been broken. Why? Zola wouldn’t tell, but he saw it.  _

_ Perhaps it was his eagerness to follow orders. Such a trait was the downfall of many men; the inability to make your own decisions made you vulnerable. Or perhaps it was something else…  _

_ Why did he care for the Captain so much? Rolf did not understand. The term ‘friends’ could only go so far. Why would someone feel the need to sacrifice himself for someone else? It was such a foreign concept to Rolf. Really, it just sounded ridiculously cliche to him. Such things didn’t exist in today’s age.  _

_ Rolf was thinking of just packing up and going home, but the sound of the door behind him stopped him. _

_ “Finally, I thought you weren’t even going to-” _

_ “I assure you, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” purred Alexei.  _

_ Rolf didn’t even have time to scream before a knife was expertly plunged into his chest.  _

Anguish clawed at her insides, guilt clouded her mind - it grew even more when she thought of what she had been doing. 

This was going against everything her brother believed in. She was destroying all his plans for this project, his legacy, but she  _ had _ to. She had no choice, regardless of her fate. 

SUMMER 1951

Bucky received a second note after he managed to break through the cage around his mind again. It had taken longer than expected… which… worried him. He didn’t want to think about that right now, though; he was too exhausted.

> _ My name is Annaliese. I want to help you. _

He was only mildly surprised to see the girl’s name. Lately, she had been acting incredibly… careful. While he was the Soldier, she hadn’t even looked him in the eye, only placing the tray on the floor and walking back out with a few clicks of her heels. 

He wanted to talk to her, to ask what was going on in the outside world, or just what was happening in general, but he had no way to communicate with her other than these letters, and even they were one-sided. 

With every meal, he eagerly awaited to see if there was a letter but made sure not to let it show on his face. There were eyes everywhere, and he was also very aware of the camera in the corner of his cell. 

The thought that this could be a trick passed his mind. If he failed, would _____ pay for it? 

Bucky glared at the wall. No! No blanks this time! His name was  _ Steve. _ He can’t forget Steve. It wasn’t possible. 

He could feel a headache coming on, but he forced himself not to care. He was stronger than this. He could fight it.

> _ I’m so sorry about yesterday. I didn’t want to. Alexei made me.  _

Presumably, she was referring to when she had helped the Russian read out words. Bucky didn’t know what they were for. Based on his reactions to them (which he didn’t think he even had any, but he was hooked up to some computer that could apparently find what they were looking for), they debated and crossed out words in a book. Sometimes they brainstormed more. The ones that were recurring most often were: 

Желание. [tr: Longing.]

Семнадцать. [tr: Seventeen.]

Печь. [tr: Furnace.]

Грузовой вагон. [tr: Freight car.]

Maybe Bucky had only heard them out of context, but they seemed like an odd bunch of words. They didn’t really have much in common. But then again, Hydra was unpredictable. 

> _ Blink twice for yes and once for no: Is there a reason why you don’t fight back anymore? _

Annaliese had looked at him expectantly as she bent down to put the tray at his feet. He started at the note, inconspicuously placed in between his water cup and the edge of the small piece of bread.

His stomach churned. He was so _ hungry, _ all the time, were they trying to kill him like this? But, for whatever reason, he wasn’t as skinny as he should be in these circumstances. 

_ Is there a reason why you don’t fight back anymore? _

He must have given them the satisfaction of thinking that they had won. Bucky’s blood started to boil. They didn’t know. But Bucky didn’t have to prove anything to them!

_ Is there a reason why you don’t fight back anymore? _

He stared at the hot water, sweating in his stuffy cell. Looking up at Annaliese, he blinked twice.

1953

> _ Is it because you have a lover waiting for you? Or someone important to you? _

Annaliese had been trying to guess the reason for a long time now. He didn’t know how long it had been, but it would always be a couple of months before the next note came. Sometimes she would stop asking and ask him other things, trying to jog his memories when it became too hard to think. 

However, Bucky didn’t know how to answer this one. He knew she meant back at home in America; back in his and _____’s apartment. 

(His chest grew tighter, tears of frustration pricking from the corners of his eyes. It’s Steve, _ God damn it. _ Steve. S-T-E-V-E. Steve Rogers.)

But Steve was  _ here _ somewhere, not waiting for him in America. 

He was suddenly hit with the intense awareness of his situation - he was here, in this dirty, mucky cell, speaking through notes with someone he didn’t even know he could trust. Why wasn’t he someone else? Anyone else - just sitting in their comfortable homes, near the fireplaces, maybe reading a book or listening to music on the radio… 

Why did  _ he _ have to be Bucky?

He never gave Annaliese an answer. 

LATE FALL 1955

On November 22, 1955, the USSR tested their first two-stage hydrogen bomb. Code name: RDS-37.

WINTER 1955

> _ I think I can help you escape. I’ll try and give you details soon.  _

Bucky stared at the note. God, he had been waiting for this note for so  _ long, _ but now he didn’t know what to do. He stayed frozen in his little corner, away from the door and his back against the wall to assure him no one would sneak up behind him as he reread the note over and over… and over and over again. 

What was he meant to do? 

> _ S… ____, _
> 
> _ Sorry I haven’t written in a while. Where are you? _
> 
> _ Is it wrong to say that you’re the only thing keeping me alive? _
> 
> _ If I died, would you follow me? Would you move on?  _
> 
> _ Forget me. Forget me. Forget me.  _
> 
> _ If I jumped, would you jump with me? _
> 
> _ I miss you.  _
> 
> _ When this is all over and done with, allow me to say goodbye one last time.  _
> 
> _ B _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late again, can I get a wahoo?  
> EDIT:   
> Since Bucky is so shielded from the outside world, here’s context:  
> Stalin died on March 5, 1953.  
> The Korean War lasted from 1950-1953 (USA backs South Korea, USSR and China back North.)  
> The Cold War lasted from 1945-1991.


	10. July 23-24, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Sam both find out something, Steve goes to coffee with Sharon while Bucky is in therapy, and Boris the Pigeon makes another appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A full out panic attack happens in this chapter, so if that is something you'd like to avoid, skip to the part where it says 'Steve did this. That had to be the explanation.'

> _It’s my fault it’s my fault it’s my faULT IT’S MY FAULT IT’S MY FAULT IT’S MY_

Bucky fingers grasped at his hair, pulling it harshly and trying to get himself to stop crying, stop it, stop-

_Weakness. Weakness. Restarting-_

“Buck?!” Steve called. Mango was barking worriedly, probably trying to sniff out his location. 

_Weakness. Weakness. Restarting-_

Mango scrabbled at the bathroom door, whining. Steve was panting on the other side, fumbling to unlock it. Bucky panicked, quickly rubbing the tears off his cheeks and throwing his journal in a remote corner of the room. It hit something and he heard the sound of glass shattering, only making him retreat further away from the door. 

“Shit- Buck, hang on, hang on, I’m almost- Wait for me, just a sec, alright? Alright? Please, don’t- don’t cut me out- please-” Steve begged frantically, searching for the key that unlocked the doors. 

Bucky slowly crawled into the corner, breathing unevenly, arm shaking underneath his weight. The pencil he’d been using snapped and he drew in a shuddering breath, throat tight as he weakly settled against the wall, feeling a small amount of comfort knowing no one would sneak up behind him. 

“Where is he?” he heard Sam’s voice say. Steve said something about _in the bathroom, where’s the key, Sam? Bucky, please open the door._

Bucky couldn’t move, could only draw his knees up to his chest and clutch at them tight, his flesh hand unconsciously coming up to harshly scratch at where the metal met skin at the shoulder.

_Weakness. Weakness. Restarting system: seek handler, code: 27-AkLHb, listen to instructions. Instructions: sit still, wait for the handler. Instructions- instructions…_

_“Open the door, Buck, please!”_

Suddenly Bucky was at the door, hand on the handle, but he didn’t open it. No, not again, not again-

“Stevie?” he called weakly, resting his head. against the door, using all his willpower to resist the command. 

“Buck? Buck! Are you alright? Can you open the door for me and Mango, please?” 

His hand struggled on the knob, not knowing whether to open it or stay put. Why did he have to do this? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Do something, do something-

“Talk to me, Buck - what’s going on in that head of yours?” Steve asked gently, barely able to keep the worry out of his voice.

“It’s-” Bucky paused, choking up again, “It’s my f-fault.” 

“Shh, deep breaths, come on, what’s wrong? Talk to me. Please.”

“I hurt him, I did it, Steve, it was me, it was me-” Bucky gasped for air as everything came out in a shameful rush of words, all of it so painful and _why did it feel like just yesterday when it had been years?_

_Sam and Riley were on a mission the day Riley died. They were tasked to infiltrate an area where a notable target of Afghanistan was hiding out with their EXO-7 Falcon harnesses. The soldiers had been armed with RPGs, Riley was struck down. Obviously on purpose, but Riley had mentioned seeing something before he was hit:_

_“Hey, hey, wait a second- do you see that glint of metal over there?” Riley whispered, thrusting his arm out to stop Sam from moving forward._

_Sam was about to reply when suddenly Riley shoved him out of the way and then there was an explosion in his place. Sam was flung back with the force of it._

_He couldn’t even call for backup. Riley was already dead, falling out the air._

Hydra wanted Khalid Khandil to live, for whatever reason. So the Soldier was tasked to kill their U.S. opponents, disguised as just another soldier. Bucky had had no idea that it was Sam until he had shown them a picture of him and Riley only a few minutes ago. 

_“Hey! Sam where’ve you been? Why’ve you been MIA for so long?” Steve greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. Sam gave a small smile._

_“Sorry, man, I’ve been taking the week off to pay my respects.”_

_“Pay your respects?” Bucky asked from the couch. He was finishing up the_ Percy Jackson _series, which Sam commented on briefly before explaining sadly:_

_“Yeah. A couple years ago, I lost my friend Riley. I wanted to take a break from everything, you know, to remember him again. And the good times we had.”_

_“Who’s Riley? You haven’t mentioned him before.”_

_“Oh, I haven’t? Must’ve been just Steve, then. Here, I’ve got a picture of him somewhere.” Sam took out his wallet, thumbing through the cash and triumphantly taking out a small, blurry picture of him and… and…_

_It took a second for it to click, but when it did, Bucky shot out of the room as quickly as he could, starting to hyperventilate._

4, 7, 8 - inhale, hold, exhale - come on, you pathetic bastard, _Bucky thought frantically as he ran into the bedroom, grabbed his journal, and dashed into the bathroom, locking the door behind him._

Breathe, just- fuck it, okay- five things you can- five you can- _Bucky felt his thoughts slowly spiral downwards and he yanked at his hair, trying to get it to_ stop.

“Hey, Buck, breathe for me, okay? I’m gonna open the door in a second, alright?” Steve asked. Bucky could only nod against the door, but he knew Steve couldn’t see him. 

“Okay, five things you can see, Buck?”

“I-I don’t know-” Bucky lungs seemed to shrink in at the thought, and he held his breath so he didn’t make too much noise. 

“Work with me here, Buck. Five things you can see?”

“Uh, I- I- door.”

“Okay, that’s good. Four more?”

“... Broken glass.”

Steve didn’t comment on that. “What’s another?”

“Broken pencil.”

“Mhm, and?”

“Journal. And… the sink.”

“Okay, what’re four things you can feel?”

“Door. Metal. The floor. The… shirt you refuse to put in the hamper.”

Steve gave a slight chuckle. “Three things you can hear?”

“Your voice. The A/C. Mango.” Bucky said softly, the abrupt weight of his exhaustion finally hitting him. 

“Two things you can smell.”

“Toothpaste. Soap.”

“One thing you can taste?”

“... Cookies.” 

“You want one?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. He didn’t even want to think about how he probably didn’t deserve it. 

“‘M gonna open the door now, that okay?”

“Y… Yeah.” 

The door clicked open slowly and Bucky leaned off of it, and he couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed of himself for making a scene like that. But Steve’s face was kind and caring as always, holding his arms out for a hug, which Bucky gratefully accepted, all his energy drained. Mango whined disapprovingly when she saw his nails were a bit bloody for scratching too hard at his skin, so Bucky knelt down and hugged her, too. 

“Hey, how about you go to the kitchen and I’ll get some disinfectant, okay?”

Bucky hummed absentmindedly, burying his face in Mango’s soft fur. She was still very upset with him, but she let him hold her for a while before she pulled back to lick at his face. Bucky smiled, rubbing her ears, then got up to venture to the kitchen. Sam wasn’t there anymore and Bucky couldn’t help but feel guilty again since Sam was there to visit in the first place. Of course Bucky had to drive him off again. He’d have to apologise tomorrow when he drove him to his appointment with 

He sighed heavily, opening up the cabinets and grabbing the container of chocolate chip cookies Steve had baked recently, shoving a big one into his mouth as he took the container to the couch. Mango hopped up next to him and settled herself with her head on his lap. Steve arrived a few minutes later with the disinfectant, a glass of water, and also his journal (with a pencil that wasn’t broken). Steve set down the glass with a small clink and silently handed him his journal, which Bucky took gladly. 

“Can you take your shirt off for a second?” Steve asked as he settled in beside him. Bucky complied, making sure not to jostle Mango too much. 

Steve went silent as he always did when he saw the transition of his flesh to the metal of his arm. Similar to a kicked golden retriever, actually; soft eyes and that same sad expression. 

The flesh there was scarred with how many times he’d tried to scratch it off, from trying to get rid of the metal connected to his shoulder. Right now fresh lines of red marred his skin, the deepest parts starting to ooze little specks of blood. Bucky absentmindedly scraped the bloodied dirt out from underneath his fingernails as Steve disinfected his shoulder, each little dab sending a sharp sting right through his nerves.

“You wanna watch _The Emperor’s New Groove?”_ Steve asked softly. He didn’t mention Sam, or… Riley. Nothing. Really, Bucky didn’t know whether or not he felt grateful for that. 

Bucky nodded slowly. When he turned to look at Steve, Steve was already staring back at him with a soft, compassionate expression on his face. How did he stand it? 

> _Is this the end?_
> 
> _It was a matter of time._
> 
> ~~_Can we be friends after_ ~~
> 
> _Can we still be friends now?_
> 
> _It was a matter of time._
> 
> _Why didn’t I see this coming?_

Steve did this. That had to be the explanation. 

“So… this the right address, Bucket?” Sam asked, pointing to the GPS. Bucky scanned it for a second before nodding. 

He didn’t know what to say to him anymore, fearing whatever he said would be the last words they spoke to one another. There was nothing he could say to make up for Sam’s loss. Words were nothing compared to that. ‘I’m sorry’ was meaningless. But what else was there? Everything else boiled down to the same thing, but with more words. 

But what words to choose? 

Sam wasn’t the one that drove Bucky to his therapy sessions. It was usually Steve. But apparently, he had a meeting with some agent named… Sharon? Steve said she was an ‘old friend’ or something like that. 

Of course, Bucky had called bullshit on that. A coffee? One on one? Alone? Who does that anymore besides Natasha? (And Natasha certainly did not date lightly. So it never was a coffee date… Probably. Maybe. Natasha was a wild card sometimes.)

Steve had been adamant that he had to go, though, which only strengthened Bucky’s suspicions. Honestly, Bucky was just confused why Steve wouldn’t be open about it. It’s not like it had to be some big secret. They were… friends. Right? Friends told each other stuff.

If Steve really was telling the truth, what then? He could have tasked literally anyone else (well, probably not _anyone)_ to take Bucky. But _fine,_ everyone else had been busy with such-and-such or were going somewhere with so-and-so. And then Sam was free, why not go with him? Great idea. A day or so after Sam had found out that Bucky had murdered his _best friend_ and Bucky had found out he had murdered a guy that happened to be Sam’s _best friend._

 _Fantastic idea, Steve,_ Bucky thought, _Dump me with someone who now hates me so you can go on a maybe-date._

“Do you know who this Sharon is, Sam?” Bucky asked, hoping he wasn’t stepping over some line he wasn’t aware of.

It was better to talk about Steve. It was a safe area, something they had in common. Everything else would be compromised.

“She’s Carter’s niece,” Sam explained as he turned around the corner, “Great agent, I think. Very professional. She was told to watch Steve when he was first brought into the 21st century, and to ‘make sure he knew what Starbucks was,’ apparently.”

A faint smile slipped onto Bucky’s face. 

“D’you know why they’re goin’ out today?” Bucky continued with a decidedly quiet voice. 

“Maybe something mission-related? I think Natasha also has a meeting with Sharon.” 

Bucky didn’t have anything to say to that, so he turned his attention to outside. The trees whizzed past, the sun shining with blaring intensity as the air condition blasted throughout the car in an attempt to cool down the hot summer heat. The metal of Bucky’s arm was relatively warm, almost a little too warm to the touch. He had made sure to wear a short-sleeved shirt today to try and make sure he didn’t overheat. Bucky could see in the rearview mirror that Mango was laying in the backseat, tongue lolling out happily. 

“Here we are,” Sam said after a moment as he pulled up to his therapist’s office. Bucky unbuckled his seat belt and was about to get out of the car when Sam grabbed his arm.

“Wait-” Bucky froze, expecting the yelling to start or _something._ “Barnes, I… I can’t say I know what’s going on in your head. I’ll never know what it would be like to be you, but… I know it’s not your fault. I _don’t_ blame you.” 

Bucky sat for a few more seconds, waiting for some ‘but’ or ‘however,’ but it didn’t come. He dashed out of the car, a mixture of emotions - very _uncomfortable_ emotions - churning in his gut. Ignoring Sam as he released Mango from the backseat, he ran into the building, not sure he had the strength to look back. 

Soon he was in front of his therapist’s office. Bucky waited for a second after knocking on Emma’s office door, trying to catch his breath after his… retreat. Mango whined, brushing against his thigh as she panted. Bucky scratched her behind her ears. He smiled absentmindedly when he saw a pinned up crayon drawing Emma’s child had drawn of her, a speech bubble stemming off from her head saying, ‘HoW do You FEEL?’. Her daughter, Alissa, was only in kindergarten (but she would tell you she was basically in first grade now). She liked putting stickers on Bucky’s metal arm whenever she happened to see him. 

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, although this certainly wasn’t his first therapy session, and only jumped a little when Emma opened her door with a soft smile.

“Hey there, Bucky, very sunny this morning, isn’t it? Why don’t you choose a seat while I go find my pen.” she greeted. He let himself settle in the cushy couch opposite of her usual spot, Mango calmly laying at his feet.

“Yeah, Steve mentioned that earlier.” Bucky commented, “A bit too hot, I think.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “Let’s start, yeah? What brings you here today? You seemed a bit out of breath when I opened the door, is there anything in particular you would like to discuss?”

“I-” Bucky started, but immediately stopped when his throat instantly closed up. 

“Take your time.” 

“I had a…” 

What was the word? What could sum up everything that had happened yesterday? 

“… an… episode. Yesterday.”

“Tell me more about that.”

Bucky breathed out harshly through his nose, cradling his head in his hands. He determinedly blinked away the somewhat frustrated blur of tears as his eyes watered up. 

“Sam came over yesterday.”

Emma nodded slowly, “You mentioned he hadn’t been seen by anyone for a while. How do you feel about this? ”

Bucky’s chest ached and he sighed, knowing this was going to be a long session. 

“Thank you, Bucky, I think that’s it for today. Do you want to schedule another appointment? Same time next week?” Emma asked. 

Bucky breathed out a sigh of relief, letting his shoulder slump. He could only nod. 

“Okay, I’ll see you then, yeah? You go meet Steve outside, I think I just saw him pull up.”

Bucky smiled at the thought of Steve waiting for him downstairs - he quickly said goodbye and made his escape, walking hurriedly through the door and exited the building with Mango at his side. 

Steve was leaning against his car, typing out a text message with a peculiar smile on his face. As Bucky approached, Steve looked up and grinned, pocketing his mobile. 

“You ready to go home, Buck? I think there’s some ice cream with your name on it.” 

Bucky huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, let’s go, you punk.” 

After they got into the car again and started making their way home, Bucky asked, “So… how was your date with Agent Carter?”

“Ew, Buck, it wasn’t a date.”

“Who were you textin’ then?” 

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it. That pretty much answered Bucky’s question.

“I don’t see why you want to keep this from me, Steve - seriously, you are a terrible liar.” 

“I’m not keeping anything from you, Buck! And I don’t _like_ Sharon like that!” 

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed, unconvinced. 

“I’m serious! That would be… really weird. Sharon is Peggy’s niece!” Steve said with obvious frustration. Bucky sighed, patting him on the shoulder as a silent ‘sorry’. After that, things went into an awkward silence and… Jesus Christ, weren’t they past this already? 

In an attempt to change the subject, Bucky looked out the window, and… his eye caught on one particular bird. 

“Hey, is that Boris?” Bucky asked, pointing out the window.

One might be wondering how the hell Bucky knew it was the same pigeon from around a week ago. Well, the answer to that question was quite simple: Boris was curly. Bucky had no idea pigeons could have curly feathers, but Boris certainly had curly feathers. 

Honestly, Bucky thought it was weird. Weren’t birds supposed to be designed to fly? Curly feathers would surely hinder that. But no matter. Steve pulled over and slid the car window down, sticking his head out.

“Oh my god, I think it is. What the fuck?” 

“Language, Stevie,” Bucky poked him. 

Steve scoffed lightheartedly, “Like you’re not as bad.”

“Ooh, I think Boris has a lady friend.” 

Steve turned just in time to see Boris proudly strut up to another pigeon, cooing softly. She cooed back and Boris rubbed his head on hers affectionately. Boris seemed a bit small in comparison to her, but that didn’t stop him from reaching up and cuddling with her.

“Huh,” Steve blinked. “Weird.” 

Bucky thought for a moment before saying, “Her name will be Rebecca.” 

> _I wish Steve would just tell me. I don’t see why he’s denying it. But I didn’t think I’d_ _lose him to a dame so soon. Feels like yesterday we were in that bar and Steve was_ _making heart eyes at Peggy Carter. God, she wouldn’t even look at me. Not that Steve_ _doesn’t deserve being looked at like he was_ ~~_s im spe_ ~~ _special. He was is. But people only care about your appearances, don’t they? ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover,’ they say, but they don’t really believe in it. Who does?_
> 
> _Peggy didn’t do that. Did she? No, she knew the Steve from Before._ _My Steve, the one_ _who would pick fights on people three times bigger than him like he damn idiot he was._ _But it was only a matter of time. Natasha has been trying to set him up on dates for who_ _knows how long. I just thought we might have more time together before he left. But_ _how can I keep up if I’m always running out of time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boris is a frillback pigeon, if anyone wanted to know why I described Boris as 'curly'. They looked curly to me, I don't know. (I am aware that frillback pigeons are domesticated. Yes, Boris escaped and found a girlfriend, as all rebellious pigeons do.) 
> 
> This was a hard chapter to finish for whatever reason... It was mostly the therapy scene's fault. But in the next chapter, I'll be back with something that will give you emotional whiplash. Sorry.


	11. 1956 pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some horror themes that not everyone will be comfortable reading. If graphic violence or horror in general is something that makes you uncomfortable, skip to the end and there will be a summary of the chapter for you to read.

> ______,_
> 
> _I think I remember that time we went to Coney Island. You threw up after that one ride, the Cyclone, didn’t you?_

> ______,_
> 
> _The girl doesn’t seem to know you about you, but the Russian does?_
> 
> _She keeps asking me why I’m hesitant to leave, but there isn’t a straightforward answer, is there?_

> ______,_
> 
> _I tried asking about you. The Russian laughed at me. Why did he laugh at me? What did he do to you?_

> ______,_
> 
> _Why are there alarms going off? What’s going on?_

> _S____,_
> 
> _Annaliese doesn’t know where you are?_

> _St___,_
> 
> _Where are you? Why can’t she find you?_

> _Stevie,_
> 
> _What have they done with you?_

> _Stevie,_
> 
> _Do you know what year it is?_

> _Stevie,_
> 
> _Annaliese is getting me out of here, but I can’t go without you. Please, just give me a sign. Where are you?_

> _St-_
> 
> ______,_
> 
> _You_
> 
> _You’re n_
> 
> _No. No, you can’t be. You’ve got to be here somewhere. I don’t care what Annaliese says, you come first. Where the fuck are you? Where are you?!_

> _Stevie,_
> 
> _Fuck. Fuck, shit- you’re- you’re not here. Where did they put you? What did they do?_

> _Stevie,_
> 
> _Someone’s here. They’re coming. Annaliese is scared. Stevie. I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you. Please._

> _Stevie, where are you. You have to save her what are they doing to her make it stop make it stop don’t hurt her. ___ please help her help her help her_

> _You_
> 
> _You’re_
> 
> _youre dead ?_
> 
> _youve been gone this whole time and I didnt know didnt know didnt know youre gone hes lying youre here somewhere please you can’t leave me no_

> _End of the line._
> 
> _End of the line._
> 
> _End of the line._
> 
> Wait for me. 

* * *

Humans always think they’re indestructible. At least until something finally happens to them. They wonder, _what did I do to deserve this?_ The answer is simple, really. 

Absolutely nothing.

Good people never deserve the bad things that happen to them, but that’s how life decided to pan out. You suffer and suffer, but not for a heavenly reward or the light at the end of the tunnel - you suffer and you die. 

Bucky never wanted to be drafted for the war. He never wanted to fight. But in the army, he realised just how fragile a human life was. There for a second and then gone the next with just one carefully aimed shot. 

Why did anyone fight anymore? For what? To prove their point? To show everyone their worth? To show how far they would go to get what they wanted? Bucky was so tired of it all by now. He just wanted to see _____ again. At least once more. 

But Annaliese didn’t know about _____ until he told her that night. 

The first thing that had alarmed him was the frequency of her notes. She was sending more than what was probably safe, but there was nothing Bucky could do about it. It probably had something to do with whatever was going on; they were taking him out of the ice for longer and longer, every day giving him more and more tasks to complete. If he didn’t manage to finish whatever they had assigned, they would lock him in a cramped box for hours on end, not allowing him to even move around because they’d kick the box and he’d ram into one of the sides. 

They had also become rather obsessed with recording everything. He’d had one small camera in his cell, obviously just to make sure he wasn’t trying to escape or something stupid like that, but now they had placed several large, high-tech looking cameras in nearly every corner of the facility. It was sort of… ridiculous. Why would they want to record what everyone was doing? Wouldn’t they just want to watch him? And it wasn’t like he was in the halls very often. Most of the rooms he was kept in were close to each other.

The thought that maybe they were watching the Hydra members as well crossed his mind, even if it didn’t make any sense. Did it make sense? Bucky honestly didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. 

Once or twice, he nearly fell over, dizzy enough that he couldn’t keep track of the world as it spun before his eyes. 

_“Soldat?”_

There was the infuriating snapping again. The Asset growled absentmindedly at the sound. Bucky was startled by it before realising it was him that made it. 

_“Good. We’re going to take your vitals, don’t move.”_

Bucky didn’t think he _could_ stop swaying to the left, but soon he was pushed into a room with one table and two chairs that were across from each other.

_“Soldat, we have brought you here today because we wish to fix you, and to do this, we have decided to try a new method.”_ Zola said triumphantly in German, _“This particular art is not yet a mastered subject, but we have tried our best for you.”_

Bucky stared impassively at the Swiss, not moving a single muscle lest he show how he was really feeling, his entire face shut down like a wall concealing his emotions. It’s gotten easier to hide them from everyone, but it’s also… draining. To constantly be on guard - it’s an entirely different feeling than in the war. In the war, he knew people. Here, he didn’t know anyone. He didn’t want to know these people. But… 

Bucky barely lifted his head when the door slammed open and Annaliese was led into the room with him, her head held high despite her clear dislike for the situation.

She was different. In a way, she reminded him of… 

_“Please, take a seat. We will be here a while.”_ Zola gestured to an uncomfortable-looking chair. When Bucky didn’t move, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him down, the spot where the man’s fingers touched his skin ice cold. Bucky barely suppressed a shiver. 

Bucky kept swaying to his left, still not used to the added weight to his left side even though it had been a long time. His back constantly ached, even more so when he was standing, so he was just a little grateful that he could sit down this time instead of being forced to stand up, despite the hardness of the chair. But it’s not like he expected a luxury. 

“Now, let us begin. If you would, Annaliese,” Zola said, switching back to English. 

Bucky’s brain needed a second to process the abrupt switch between languages, but they had been doing it more and more lately, so he was starting to get used to it. It still gave him a vague headache for whatever reason. Maybe his brain was still a little frozen all the time.

Zola gestured for Annaliese to sit across from Bucky. He tried not to look at her with any sort of recognition. 

“What brings you here today?” Annaliese read from the card she was holding when Zola motioned for her to begin.

When Bucky didn’t answer, Zola sighed.

“Well, I suppose that means we’ll bring Mr Rogers instead-” Bucky’s head exploded in pain and he groaned, hanging his head. Then the name seemed to register and he shot up, ramrod straight in his seat. Zola was saying, “Come along, Annaliese” and they were about to leave the room, but-

“Wait!” Bucky shouted in panic. His first mistake. 

Zola turned to him with a wide grin, writing something in his notepad. 

“Oh?”

“I-” Bucky drew in a shuddering breath, “I’ll do it, just don’t- don’t touch him.”

Zola stared at him. Bucky didn’t know why, but it made him incredibly uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but turn away from those searching eyes, even though he could feel the man’s gaze burning into the side of his skull. 

“Excellent,” Zola finally said, “Sit back down, Annaliese.”

Annaliese slowly took her seat across from Bucky again, bringing out her notecards. 

“What brings you here today?” she asked monotonously. Her red nails absentmindedly plucked at the edges of the notecards. 

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything troubling you?”

“No.”

He cried out when a sharp bolt of electricity shot through his body from his neck. What in the world-

“We need answers of substance, Soldier. Not lies.” Zola scolded.

The Asset hung his head. Bucky didn’t say anything.

“Let me ask you again: Is there anything troubling you?” 

“Everything.”

“Be more specific. Let’s start with today. Has anything bothered you today?” 

“I hate this place.” 

Bucky let out a pained gasp when another shock shot down his spine.

“Let’s play nice, now, Soldier,” Zola whispered into his ear. Bucky shuddered, intensely disgusted by the clamminess of that breath on his skin. 

They continued on like this. Bucky would answer vaguely, eventually be punished for it, until they threatened to start with _____ instead and Bucky would break and answer a little more truthfully, giving just a little bit more each time. Annaliese twisted his words, using them against him and _maybe- maybe it wouldn’t be too far off to say it was his fault _____ wasn’t at home, it was_ his _fault that he was here and not with _____, it was his fault, his fault-_

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and he hung his head and cried for the first time in front of his captors. 

He should have been alarmed when Annaliese’s notes suddenly stopped. He should have been frightened when the alarms started sounding through the entire facility. He should have known what was about to happen when someone started banging on the walls, when the gunshots started ringing out, when people started screaming about Alexei’s betrayal, that he wasn’t loyal to Hydra. When people were shouting for order, for obedience, for submission, even though nobody did anything for the fallen.

A mutiny, but it wouldn’t last long

All of that was far from his mind now. Annaliese had appeared, unlocking his cell door quietly before grabbing a gun to shoot the chains holding his arms captive to the wall. Then she grabbed him by the hand - his metal one - and dragged him through the halls of Hydra, clearly aiming for an exit. 

Bucky followed her mindlessly, his mind going blank under the pressure of what was happening and the _screaming, oh god, the screaming-_

_“There is a secret escape through Alexei’s office, he won’t be there right now, he’s trying to get people to listen to him. When we get there, you run, please, and don’t look back. Nearby there is an airbase, you can take one of the private jets or a car.”_ Annaliese instructed him as they turned the corner. 

She quickly pushed him back and they pressed their backs flat to the wall as the sparks of bullets fired from down the fall, just barely missing Annaliese’s arm. She clutched her gun close to her body, the warmth from her recent shot emanating from the metal. Her chest heaved as she panted, dragging him through the halls, dodging people. 

“What about you?” Bucky rasped. When Annaliese stayed silent, he knew his answer. 

“You can’t. Come with me. Please.” Bucky pleaded. He was so _tired,_ but things couldn’t be so simple, could they? 

Annaliese could only shake her head sadly. _“It’s alright. I’m ready for whatever happens,”_ she tried to reassure, but the words rang false in Bucky’s ears. But it was her choice, so he let it go and let her guide him through the maze of halls that made up the Hydra base. 

The guards were starting to get everyone under control when Bucky realised they were missing someone. 

“Where’s Stevie?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he looked around as if the one he was looking for would materialize in front of him. Annaliese looked at him strangely. 

_“Who is that?”_

“My friend, he’s- they have him, he’s here somewhere, I just don’t- I don’t know where they’re keeping him and-”

Annaliese nodded, _“You’ll have to leave him behind. We don’t have time to save others. But if you get out, maybe you’ll be able to get him out one day-”_

“No!” Bucky shouted. Annaliese looked around worriedly to see who had heard, but it appeared that no one had. That was unsurprising, considering the racket people were making. They were closing in on a quieter part of the building, the lights flickering off after being damaged by the bullets that had rained through earlier. The fight had moved to a different area now. 

“I can’t leave him, I can’t, I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t-” Bucky chanted, his breath coming out in short gasps as the wings of panic started struggling in his chest. 

He couldn’t leave Stevie behind, not after everything. Not when he might have a chance!

_“We_ have _to, Barnes, there’s no-_

“I won’t leave him!” Bucky insisted. Annaliese turned around to look at him in the dimmed room. Her eyes shone with fierce determination, but they were clouded with tears. 

_“As you wish,”_ she whispered. _“If your friend is here, he’ll be in one of these cells. We keep prisoners there. It’s a little bit off our path, but if we find your friend quickly enough, we should have time. Come on!”_

Bucky and Annaliese ran off their path to the cells, containing prisoners of war and other captives that Hydra was keeping for their various reasons. Bucky peered desperately into each room, trying to sift through the faces and find the blond hair he was so familiar with. After a few minutes of no luck, a rising doubt started to beat in sync with his heart.

_“Maybe if you told me his full name it would be easier for us to find him? I have high clearance for this place.”_ Annaliese whispered. Bucky frowned, staring at the floor. They continued to check cells, but one after another, they proved to be fruitless endeavours. 

“I can’t remember,” Bucky whispered brokenly. He noticed a tear that had fallen from his eye splash onto his hand, streaking through the dirt that seemed to stain his skin. 

The alarm suddenly shut off, along with the flickering lights, leaving them in darkness. 

“What’s going on?” Bucky whispered in fear. The warmth of Annaliese’s body was still near and he reached out to her to make sure they wouldn’t be separated. She jumped slightly when he touched her, but relaxed once she recognized the cool metal of his arm. Now that they were standing still, his spine ached all the more prominently, so he bent over slightly to try to ease the pain. 

Then there were quiet footsteps, a soft tapping of the soles of a neat pair of shoes. They were coming closer, right in their direction. Annaliese stilled, then grabbed Bucky by the shoulder to quietly lead him into a room to hide. Bucky hoped that the lights wouldn’t turn back on before they reached the room.

Annaliese tiptoed into an empty room behind him and moved to the numeric pad near the door to type in a code, probably to lock the door, but stopped short. 

The hair on the back of Bucky’s head stood when he heard what she was listening to: a faint, almost completely silent breathing behind them, but it was deliberately loud enough for them to hear. 

_“Annaliese, what a surprise,”_ the voice purred as the lights flickered back on. Bucky whipped around and his heart stopped when his eyes met the Russian’s, dread spreading through his body like wildfire. Annaliese clutched her gun so tight that the tips of her fingers turned white, her eyes wide and chest heaving as she stared in disbelief.

They had failed. 

Grief seemed to reverberate from Bucky’s heart in waves as they forcefully dragged both him and Annaliese to the circular room, the chair still in the centre like it was the last time he had been brought here. Annaliese’s gun had been ripped out of her hands, leaving both of them defenceless. 

As they reached the centre of the room, the Russian forced her to her knees by kicking her legs out from underneath her. He yanked her head up by her hair, pained tears forming in her eyes as she gritted her teeth and glared up at the Russian. Bucky was restrained as well as forced onto his knees, facing Annaliese, who was right in front of the chair, the spotlight-like light shining onto her hair and making her skin seem almost translucent. 

Bucky slowly started to realise that more and more people were starting to file into the room, all standing at the edges of the room. It was like Bucky and Annaliese were on display for everyone to see and Bucky _hated_ it. 

Bucky flicked his eyes back over to the girl, who was already looking at him with a clear fear in her eyes. Whether it was for her fate or otherwise, Bucky didn’t know, but the look made his gut churn in a way that made him nauseous, although he hadn’t eaten in days. 

_“Hail Hydra,”_ the Russian greeted. A unanimous ‘Hail Hydra’ answered back from the edges of the room. _“I am grateful for all the people who came today. I am proud that you have made the right decision, especially after the unfortunate events that have taken place recently. After all, Rolf - may he rest in peace - well, we owe it to him for his… untimely death.”_ the Russian began casually, his grip on Annaliese’s hair not softening in the slightest. 

_“However, you may be wondering why I assembled you all here. It is because we have finally found the murderer responsible.”_

A few whispers permeated throughout the room, but they quickly went silent when they realised the Russian was waiting for them to stop. 

_“It may surprise you to find that it was his sister, Annaliese, that committed the murder. Although we did not have tapes of her in the act, there is solid evidence for this accusation._

_“Annaliese has always envied her brother because of his position, especially for his influence over the Winter Soldier project-”_

_“That’s not true-!”_ Annaliese protested but quickly went silent when Alexei seemed to produce a knife out of nowhere, pressing it against her throat to keep her quiet. Bucky felt sick in his stomach at the sight. 

_“As I was saying…”_ the Russian continued, _“today, during the confusion we had earlier, Annaliese attempted to break out the Soldier from his cell and escape with him, in hopes that she could use him for her advantage and destroy Hydra.”_

People cried out angrily at this. They got louder and louder in their fury towards Annaliese, and eventually, someone called out for her death. It all went quiet after that, some seemingly in shock at themselves that they would suggest it. 

The Russian gestured for one of the guards to take his place, then crouched down to Annaliese’s level. Bucky strained to hear what he said, but when he did his blood ran cold.

_“You know, it is a shame to_ lose _such a pretty face,”_ he whispered into Annaliese’s ear, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She went completely pale at the words as realisation dawned on her. She began struggling against her restraints even more, fear shining in her eyes. 

The Russian held out his hand and one of the nearest guards took a gun from their holster and placed it in the Russian’s hand. The Russian fiddled with it for a few seconds before getting a grip on the handle and raising Bucky could see Annaliese struggle even harder at the sight and Bucky needed to do something - _anything_ \- so he shouted:

“STOP!” 

The Russian paused, the gun still aimed at Annaliese’s head. 

_“Oh? Did you want to do it yourself?”_ the Russian asked Bucky and he shook his head vehemently. 

“Just- let her go. Please.” Bucky begged, voice cracking under the weight of his emotion. The Russian seemed to be listening, so he continued: “Let her go and just- just forget about her. Let her live her life away from this place. I’ll do whatever you want, please, just don’t touch her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

The Russian turned to him and stared into his eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time, but Bucky stared determinedly back. The air was tense in those few moments and Bucky hoped with all his heart that the man would just listen to him. 

_“No,”_ the Russian denied, turning back around and firing his gun, all in quick succession. 

Annaliese fell to the ground, struggling no longer. 

Bucky screamed for him to stop, but it was too late. 

The Russian turned back to him and sneered, _“Do you see what you have done? I have only done this because of you, Soldier. It_ is _your fault. Don’t you see now?”_

Bucky keeled over and gagged at the smell that penetrated the air, tears falling from his eyes. Why didn’t he save her? He should have tried harder, he had a chance, it was his fault she wasn’t still alive, he shouldn’t’ve let her try and help him-

Before he knew it, his weak body was forced into the chair, his arm and legs clamped down in place. The Russian stepped over Annaliese’s body absentmindedly after saying some words about the ‘greater good’ and dismissing the crowd from the room, leaving only him and a couple of scientists and guards. They all ignored Annaliese’s body, which was slowly pooling blood onto the floor. Bucky couldn’t look at the scene without his stomach attempting to dry heave its nonexistent contents onto the ground below. 

_“You know, Soldier, there is something we have not told you.”_ the Russian said, leaning in as if he was telling Bucky a guarded secret. 

Bucky lifted his head to look at the Russian, uncaring and numb to the world. 

The Russian motioned for a tape recorder to be brought in front of Bucky and he clicked the ‘Play’ button with relish once everything was set up.

_“1945. Audio from 152-ADF.”_ came a mechanical voice before it switched the sound of rushing wind. 

“Come in: this is Captain Rogers, do you read me?!” someone said, and Bucky’s lungs seized, his entire body stilling as the familiar pain of the name returned.

“Captain Rogers, what is your-” someone said, presumably from a communication device due to the static quality of the voice. 

“Steve, is that you?! You alright?” came another. Bucky realised with a start that it was Peggy. 

“Peggy! Schmidt’s dead!” Steve yelled over the wind again. 

“What about the plane?” Peggy asked, the worry in her tone evident. 

Steve was silent for a moment before admitting: “That’s a little bit tougher to explain.”

Bucky looked up at the Russian with wide, confused eyes, leaning closer to the recording to try and hear everything Steve said. The Russian merely smiled at him.

“Uh- give me your coordinates, I’ll give you a safe landing site.”

“It’s not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down,” Steve replied hurriedly. Bucky could barely breathe with the anticipation.

“I-I’ll get Howard on the line-” Bucky exhaled sharply at the name- “he’ll know what to do.”

“There’s not enough time! This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” Steve shouted. 

_No. No, no, no-_

“I gotta put her in the water!” Steve said finally. There was more silence. 

_This can’t be real, this can’t be-_

“Please- don’t do this, we have time, we can work it out-” Peggy said, but from her tone, she seemed to realise what needed to be done. 

“Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die.” 

“No,” Bucky whispered. “You’re lying, this isn’t real, he’s-”

“Be quiet!” the Russian barked and Bucky fell deathly silent. 

“Peggy,” Steve said in a softer tone, “This is my choice.”

_You absolute idiot,_ Bucky cried internally, _You’re so stupid, why did you have to do this, why?_

There was a sharp sound, and suddenly the air began to rush faster and faster as the plane Steve was on went down in a clear decline. 

“Peggy… I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance.”

Peggy drew in a sharp breath. “Alright… A week. Next Saturday at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot, don’t you dare be late, understood?”

“...You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

Bucky gave a half watery, half manic laugh.

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.” Peggy whispered sadly. 

“We’ll have the band play something slow.” Steve rushed out as the wind grew impossibly louder, “I’d hate to step on your-”

The audio suddenly cut out and Bucky could only cry brokenly as they readied the machine. When he was tilted back, he screamed his pain, but only those who didn’t care could hear him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Hydra tries a new psychological method (twisting Bucky's words, etc) in an attempt to mold his thoughts to their liking. Later, a revolt sparks inside of Hydra, and during the confusion and attempts to regain order, Annaliese slips into Bucky's cell and frees him. They run through the halls of Hydra, trying to escape before it's too late, but Bucky insists that they find Steve because he can't just leave him behind. They look through the cells together, but in the end, it is futile and they are caught. Bucky and Annaliese are dragged into a room with Alexei and he weaves together a story for the rest of Hydra's members that paints Annaliese as the person who killed Rolf and that she was a traitor to their organization. He makes everyone watch as he kills her for the 'greater good,' then he takes Bucky to the mind-wiping machine. Right before they activate it, he reveals that Steve actually died some ten years ago through an audio recording, completing his plan to turn Bucky into the 'fist of Hydra' through a mix of physical and emotion trauma. All that's left is the trigger words, which will be introduced in the next chapter. 
> 
> \--
> 
> I'm sorry it has taken a while to get this out, I had to take a break from this story because it can get a little gruesome... But I should be back on a regular updating schedule (every week?).


	12. 1956 pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The behind the scenes of Annaliese's downfall as well as the implementation of the infamous trigger words. 
> 
> (AKA Alexei is a crafty bastard.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly delves into more of Annaliese's backstory and also how Alexei strategically used their failed escape attempt to his advantage. And, of course, this will be also about how they got the trigger words to work. 
> 
> Warning: the same gun violence as the last chapter (and blood), more emotional manipulation, etc.

Admittedly, Rolf had been dead for a long while now. Alexei had had plenty of time to ponder since then, probably more than he actually needed, but this situation deserved more than a modicum of caution. After all, Annaliese could be perceptive when she wanted to be, and he had to figure out a way to get rid of her that wouldn’t cause more discontent. There was enough as it was. Nevertheless, Rolf had been a beloved and feared leader, if not respected for his devotion to their cause, so just having his sister killed would look suspicious at the minimum. 

The answer came to him when Alexei was going through camera footage. He had installed cameras around the facility for this very purpose, but it would all go to waste if he couldn’t find at least one slip up, one tiny mistake that he could amplify to his liking-

There!

_ “Stop,” _ he ordered the man in charge of managing the tapes. The video recording was paused and Alexei squinted at the Soldier’s food tray. 

_ “Zoom in.” _

The man enlarged the image and when Alexei saw it, he felt a large grin worm onto his face. 

_ “Bring me… Hm, bring me Maxim from downstairs, I need to speak with him.” _

Alexei stormed off without another word, leaving the cameraman to stare at the small slip of paper wedged securely in the tray, just barely hidden from view. 

Maxim was not anyone particularly special. Honestly, he was just one of the lower workers of Hydra. Just one of the people that emptied trash cans during meetings or checked the lunch trays before they went out to the other workers. 

It was nearly impossible to get a raise in this place unless the Head of Hydra liked you, but Maxim needed the money to survive and… you know how that goes. 

However, things started to change after someone summoned him to Alexei’s office. Maxim was terrified; he’d heard of the things Alexei had done and didn’t want to get on the man’s blacklist. So when Alexei smiled kindly at him when he’d opened the door, Maxim was incredibly confused. 

_ “Maxim, it is good to see you. I need you to do something for me.” _ Alexei began, gesturing for Maxim to take a seat on the other side of his desk. 

_ “What is it you require, sir?” _ Maxim asked, making sure to keep his tremble out of his voice. His fingers fiddled with each other under the table. 

_ “I’ve started taking precautions. I suspect there is a weak link within our organization and I would like you to help me confirm or deny these suspicions. It is better to be safe than sorry, is it not?” _

At Maxim’s worried look, Alexei only shook his head.  _ “You do not have to worry about yourself, I do not suspect you. It is someone else.” _

_ “Who?” _ Maxim couldn’t stop himself from asking. Alexei smiled indulgently. 

_ “Annaliese.” _

_ “Annaliese? But she is the sister of-” _

_ “I am aware of this, Maxim.”  _ Alexei scolded and Maxim fell into an ashamed silence. 

_ “You have control over the Soldier’s meal plans, do you not?” _

_ “Well, not exactly-” _

_ “But you are in contact with Annaliese whenever she picks up the Soldier’s meals?” _

_ “Yes, I double-check beforehand to make sure nothing has been sneaked into the food. Why?” _

_ “I do not blame you for this, but you have not been able to keep something from slipping in under your watch.” _

Maxim felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end - he had messed up, what was going to become of him now?

_ “Annaliese has been slipping the Soldier notes of some sort. I will need your help to rectify this issue. Can you do this for me? Can you give me any notes you find?” _

Maxim gulped, unable to look away from Alexei’s piercing eyes.  _ “Of course.” _

It was hard at first. Annaliese was adamant about throwing away the remains of the Soldier’s tray herself, so Maxim had to take a different approach to get the notes to Alexei. 

Annaliese never threw away the notes in a trashcan, but rather she seemed to keep them in a jewellery box in her room. Maxim thought it was rather clever to hide them in plain sight, actually. But that also made it even more complicated to take the notes. Annaliese counted the notes every night before she went to bed, then again in the morning and at lunch. Sometimes she wouldn’t just count them, but she would reread them as if she would find new information each time she did. 

Maxim got a glimpse of a couple while Annaliese was out and about. They weren’t… at all what he expected them to be. 

> _ Blink twice for yes and once for no: Is there a reason why you don’t fight back anymore? _
> 
> _ Yes. _

The ‘yes’ had been written afterwards, presumably by Annaliese as it was in her neat handwriting. He sifted through some more notes, but he couldn’t read German, so he had to stick with the English ones. 

Maxim had heard that the Winter Soldier project had been going much smoother now that the Soldier was tamer. What had they done to him? Whatever it was, it was probably deserved - Alexei did say that the Soldier was an insane murderer or something - but to lose his fight so suddenly had been strange. 

The last note he saw wasn’t one that garnered any answer from the Soldier, but was more likely a statement Annaliese wished him to see:

_ No matter what happens, I want you to know that you’re not alone, even when you think you are. There will always be someone there, even if you can’t see them. _

Maxim had to leave after that, but this note didn’t fade from his memory for a long time. 

If you were to ask Annaliese why she was helping the Soldier - no: Sergeant Barnes - she would have told you that it was the right thing to do. Because it was; she knew that to be true. The tortures the Sergeant suffered at the hands of the organization she was a part of - they were… inhumane. Any other human would have surely died from the suffering he went through. 

But everyone has their motive. No one did something without their personal goals in mind. It was the same for Annaliese as well. However, it was not the average wants one would expect from someone like her, someone that associated herself with these types of people. It wasn’t the lust for money or earthly pleasures or power; it was far simpler than that.

She knew Rolf had had his faults. Probably better than he knew himself if she were to be quite frank. Rolf was never very honest with himself and was very easily convinced unless he had his mind set on something; gullible yet stubborn. But he had been all she had left. 

She and Rolf had been orphan children since they were very young, left on the streets to die. It was hard on her especially, growing up without ever knowing the love of a parent, but they helped each other. Rolf soon found Hydra and urged her to come with him, to join him in the fight to save the people. Although, she joined not because of that, but because she loved him and knew he was trying to do his best for them. After that, it was all a blur when it came down to the details. 

So no, she did not help the Sergeant because it was the right thing to do, true as that may be. At first, she did it because she knew how awful it was to live like that. She knew the feeling of being abandoned, all whilst being treated like the losers of some great game that no one knew how to win. A game that people kept fighting to win until they lost everything. 

Then Rolf had been murdered. After that, the world seemed… bleaker. Colder. The longer she was alive, the more constricted she felt in her own skin, and yet she was afraid of dying. She went to bed every night only to awaken with nightmares of her hands covered in blood and her brother lying dead on the floor - because it was her fault, wasn’t it? It came down to her to prevent it, but she had been too naive to notice Alexei’s real plans for Hydra. 

Helping the Sergeant was more important than ever to her. Not because it was the right thing to do, or because she felt bad for him (although, she would be lying if she said she didn’t), but because…

_ It is nice to have someone to wake up for again, _ she wrote onto the small slip of paper, ever aware of the ticking clock,  _ Thank you.  _

It was nearly time. Annaliese folded the slip of paper and tucked it into her hand, heading down to the kitchen to collect Sergeant Barnes’ tray. She could only hope that this would work. 

Maxim often dreamed of escaping this place, but it was impossible. Now that he was a part of it, he was a part of it for life. But one can dream while doing a monotonous task, such as sweeping the floor or wiping tables. This world was always painted in blacks and greys, but Maxim dreamt of splashes of colour. They mostly originated from his childhood: sitting on a swing or playing with a toy plane, hoping he could become a pilot someday. This was how he ignored the ongoings in Hydra. He remained unaware even during the beginning of the revolt, only jerking to reality when he heard gunshots and screaming. 

Panicked, Maxim had hidden behind the counter, clutching his broom to his chest as if it would protect him from what was happening. Because… what  _ was _ happening? It was chaos outside and he didn’t even want to imagine what was happening beyond the door. 

He hid there even after the screaming and the gunshots had stopped, only moving once Alexei’s voice echoed through the building over the speakers, calling an immediate meeting of great importance. 

Maxim abandoned his broom with some hesitation before stepping out of the room. He instantly regretted it. The hallway reeked of death, pools and smears of blood littering all surfaces like a scene out of a grotesque horror film. However, the bodies were missing, only leaving behind the evidence of their deaths.

Maxim slowly tiptoed his way down the hall, using his shirt collar to block out the smell. As he migrated his way closer to the heart of the building, he came across the focus of where the fight had been. He could tell because the smell was the strongest here, near stifling in such a small area. But the gore did not match what he expected; every wall was pristine, leaving only some specks of blood behind. People must have come and cleaned this area first.

Eventually, Maxim found the guards, the majority of them lining the walls and guiding people in the right direction. Maxim passed a few people with streaks of blood on their face. Maxim swallowed down a shudder at the sight of their haunted expressions.

The guards directed him and everyone else into a room, one he’d never been in before. It was a circular room with a single, mechanical chair in the centre. Alexei, Annaliese, and the Soldier were already there. 

This would be the first time Maxim had seen the Soldier. The man looked nothing like he had imagined him; he had imagined someone with a natural bloodthirsty look on his face, perhaps even a wild look in his eye as he had to be held back from harming others. The Soldier looked nothing like that. 

The Soldier was on his knees like Annaliese, his arms restrained behind him. His hair was matted and tangled beyond hope, dirt smudging his cheeks and his thin, cheap-looking clothing, which were reminiscent of a hospital patient - someone in need of help but unable to help themselves. Maxim couldn’t see his face very easily as he fell to the back of the group, more and more people starting to file into the room. 

A few moments went by before the guards abruptly slammed the doors shut behind them. Maxim jumped, accidentally bumping into someone. They turned and scowled at him.

The meeting had begun. 

Alexei was holding Annaliese by the hair, forcing her head upright. Maxim could see the glint of frightful tears in her eyes, but she was not trembling in her fear. Her eyes were filled with hatred as she looked upon Alexei, who just ignored her and addressed the rest of the room:

_ “Hail Hydra.” _ he greeted. Maxim and everyone else echoed it back in the same, monotonous voice. One of the guards shoved their way through the crowd, forcing Maxim to find a better place to stand and listen. Because of this, he could finally see the Soldier’s face, and his heart jolted in surprise.

The Soldier’s eyes were flooded with so much that they were blurry, and his facial features were pleading as he looked at Annaliese and back up at Alexei. Annaliese looked at him, the weight of the consequences for her actions finally seeming to settle in. 

The Soldier looked seconds away from falling apart right then, the pieces of himself visibly being chipped away by the second. That was not the face of an evil man. It was the face of a broken one, a man that was losing sight of life’s splashes of colour, beaten down by dark greys and blacks until he was surrounded in darkness. It was the face of a man that had suffered at the hands of Hell and more. Yet, he clung onto a hope for a better time, a hope he could not see yet wished was there. 

When Maxim came back to reality, he realised he had missed some of Alexei’s speech. He tried to relax his muscles, but they were already tense with the need to… to do something. Flee. Fight. Hide. Anything.

_ “-liese has always envied her brother because of his position, especially for his influence over the Winter Soldier project-” _

_ “That’s not true-!”  _ Annaliese protested. Maxim nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the sharp shine of metal pressed against her throat.

_ “Today, during the… confusion we had earlier, Annaliese attempted to break out the Soldier from his cell and escape with him, in hopes that she could use him for her advantage and destroy Hydra.” _

Bewildered, Maxim looked around at the faces that surrounded him, trying to find someone that disbelieved this nonsense as he did. He found nothing other than angry, trusting expressions of the utmost obedience, all of them in the belief that Annaliese was the enemy.

Maxim looked down at his shoes in disbelief. Did no one know Annaliese as he did? She was the sweetest person he had ever met. Why would she actively try and hurt people?

It made no sense. Everything that Alexei was saying didn’t make sense. The man didn’t even have evidence for his claims other than… the notes that Maxim had stolen for him.

If Maxim had refused to give him the notes, would have things been different? Would Annaliese have been successful in releasing the Soldier?

Would he have been in her place?

Standing straighter, Maxim looked upon Annaliese and imagined himself there, on his knees with a knife pressed to his throat. One small jerk and she -  _ he  _ \- would be dead.

_ “She should be dead!” _ someone shouted.

When he heard this, Maxim looked around at wide eyes to see who would dare suggest the murder of an innocent. Everyone shifted, looking at one another to see who was the culprit. 

What was this place? What had Maxim become a part of? Was he part of a group of people who murdered their members for rebelling? Was he one of them?

The room had gone silent, watching intently as Alexei shoved Annaliese into a guard’s arms, bending down to whisper into her ear. Her eyes widened in fear as she struggled harder and  _ wasn’t anyone going to say anything? Would no one help her? _

Maxim could only watch in horror as Alexei took a gun from the nearest guard and raised it to aim straight at Annaliese’s skull.

_ Would no one help her? _

A shout was trapped in his throat as he watched Alexei’s finger start to pull the trigger when suddenly a scream of ‘STOP!’ rang throughout the room.

Maxim could feel the room bristle in discontent as everyone’s eyes turned to the Soldier as if waiting for him to be punished for his outburst. He was relieved to see Alexei lower the gun., even though people started to whisper about Alexei being weak-willed, not going through with what he had promised. Maxim wanted to vomit into the nearest trash can.

_ “Oh? Did you want to do it yourself?” _ Alexei asked the Soldier. The Soldier shook his head hard.

“Just- let her go. Please.” The Soldier begged. Maxim was surprised to hear the Soldier’s American accent, realising the man wasn’t even from here. Where had they got him from?

“Let her go and just- just forget about her. Let her live her life away from this place. I’ll do whatever you want, please, just don’t touch her. She doesn’t deserve this.” The Soldier continued. The air grew all the more intense as everyone waited for Alexei’s response.

‘I’ll do whatever you want’ Maxim repeated in his head. Nothing made sense anymore. Do what exactly? What did they want the Soldier to do? Maxim had no idea.

While Maxim was still lost in his thoughts, he barely heard Alexei’s response, only jerking to reality when he heard the loud bang of a gunshot echo throughout the room.

He could only stare with wide eyes, his throat closing up as he watched Annaliese fall to the ground. He had to look away from the sight, listening as the Soldier screamed and gagged. Maxim’s hand flew up to cover his mouth as tears pricked his eyes, holding his breath to stop a sob from tearing out from his chest. He couldn’t draw too much attention to himself.

What kind of person was he? One that watched women get shot through the head for doing what she thought was right? Was he more wicked than he thought?

The plan was to inflict emotional and physical shock on the Soldier, just enough to leave him vulnerable.  _ Then, _ Alexei thought with pride,  _ they would strike. _

This plan had been long in the making. He and Zola had met a multitude of times, perusing the basis of the Winter Soldier project’s technology to finally come to this final solution. Alexei had known they would reveal the Captain’s death one day, and now it felt…  _ invigorating. _ A weight off his chest. A small weight, but a weight nonetheless. The truth was out and now the Soldier would suffer the consequences.

But Alexei had not known the extent of the Soldier’s relations to the Captain. What if the news wouldn’t be enough? The recordings could only be so real; after all, they were just tapes. They weren’t  _ in front _ of the Soldier. He couldn’t see them.

That was where Annaliese played her part. She had made it easy in the end. Too many mistakes and not enough caution. She should’ve known better.

But in the end, it had all worked out perfectly. Annaliese was now finally removed from the equation. All weak links had been rooted out.

It  _ was _ his idea to start the revolt, after all.

It was the day. They had to act quickly. The Soldier would only remain in the shock stage for so long. Soon he would morph into denial, anger, and depression, and they couldn’t have that.

The Soldier was dragged out of cryo, no fight left in his body as he wordlessly and obediently walked down the hall to the machine room. Alexei was reviewing the words they had chosen, pacing the room in anticipation as he reread them, reviewing the steps of the process. Everything had to be done correctly.

1\. Wipe him.

Bucky didn’t even fight back as they strapped him into the machine once again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even save St… Hell, he couldn’t remember his goddamn name.  _ He couldn’t remember. _ He couldn’t remember Steve’s face. He could only remember flashes of his hair, a glimpse of his eyes-

They shoved the rubber guard into his mouth and he attempted to ready himself for the pain, even though he would never be used to it.

2\. Plant the ear chip while he’s compliant.

The Soldier hung his head, barely registering the hands that moved his hair out of the way of his ear. He didn’t notice as someone placed a small chip into his ear, making sure it was in place before releasing him.

_ “Testing. Soldier, nod if you hear me.”  _ came Zola’s voice. The Soldier stared at the floor as he slowly nodded.

_ “Excellent.” _

3\. Recite the trigger words. (These must be pronounced with care.) Meanwhile, use the ear chip to coerce the Soldier into remembering specific things. (Listed.) This is to achieve maximum obedience (see notes page 37). 

When Alexei entered the room with the Winter Soldier book, the Soldier didn’t look at him. The room fell silent as Alexei carefully flipped to the page containing the words, despite the fact he’d memorized all of them in order.

_ “Longing (желаниe).” _

A flash of a memory entered the Soldier’s mind, one that wasn’t as much of a memory as an intense emotion, a  _ longing _ to return to a different time, a time where- 

The memory was quickly snuffed out.

_ “Rusted (pжавый).” _

The image of a rusting metal shield entered the Soldier’s mind. He blinked it away.

_ “Seventeen (семнадцать).” _

A cold apartment and a weak boy sleeping under thin sheets. Was the boy dying?

The Soldier did not recall.

_ “Daybreak (рассвет).” _

A sunrise. They were being led to a prison. The Soldier did not care. 

_ “Furnace (Печь).” _

A chill went through the Soldier. The Soldier did not need warmth. 

_ “Nine (Девять).” _

Nine years was a long time to fight. The Soldier should not fight unless ordered to. 

_ “Benign (Доброкачественные).” _

The Soldier should not have emotions. The Soldier is a machine. A fist of Hydra.

_ “Homecoming (Возвращение домой).” _

The Soldier’s home is with Hydra. He should always come back to them.

_ “One (Один).” _

Hydra and the Soldier are one. 

_ “Freight car (грузовой вагон).” _

Falling is flying. This was only the beginning. 

_ “Soldier?” _ the Russian asked. 

The Soldier repeated the words whispered in his ear:  _ “Ready to comply.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudo and a comment to feed my inner dragon.
> 
> (Also, my updating is really inconsistent -- make sure you subscribe to this work so you know when I post next!)


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